A New World
by Pognut
Summary: A portal opens between Azeroth and modern day Earth. Friendships are made, deals brokered, and the future irrevocably changed.
1. Prologue

_Hello everyone. This is Pognut, your friendly neighborhood fanfic writer and nerd. This is my first fanfic, a little idea I had while bored during winter break. I'm still not the best writer, so please be gentle. Reviews are appreciated greatly. _

Prologue

As the dragon Deathwing burst from his resting place deep within Azeroth, he forever changed the face of the world. His emergence rent the land asunder, made the seas heaved, and nearly collapsed the elemental place of earth. The devastation re-ignited war between the weary peoples of Azeroth, and ushered in new leaders. These were the changes that were seen, and fought over. Some changes, though, took a little more time to manifest...

28 ADP

Tol Barad, The Eastern Kingdoms

Pogsson Wildbeard, dwarf paladin and proud member of the Alliance, brought his mace down on the undead doing its best to disembowel him. The weapon, a gift from the Earthen of Deepholm imbued with the energies of the Holy Light, smashed through the foul beast's arms and into its body. The zombie shuddered and fell as the cleansing power of the Light severed the bonds of unholy magic animating it, just as the heavy mace head crushed its' spine. Around him, his allies cleaned up the remnants of the pack of zombies they had been tasked with clearing from Farson hold on the island of Tol Barad. The Baradin wardens, the prison guards turned army who had watched over the prison island in days past, wanted to try and clear out the hold and use it as a secondary base. Before that, the undead had to be killed, again, and that was where Pogsson and his friends came in. He looked over to where his good friend Pogsson Frostflame, a gnome mage, was freezing a group of undead solid before setting them all on fire. Pogsson sighed; his diminutive friend liked to go overboard with displays like that, but the mage had the skill in pyromancy and cryomancy to pull it off. Elsewhere, he saw the group's rogue, an enigmatic Night Elf woman known only as Lep the Killer, buried her daggers in a zombie's back, before bringing them up and ripping off the monstrosity's head.

"Plaga, stop with that!" barked Pogsson, turning to the fourth member of his band. "These are tha bodies of Alliance soldiers! I won't have ye desecrating them to raise a new ghoul when there be plenty of Horde carcasses to use." The Death Knight, his eyes glowing icy blue, turned to face the dwarf, while his newly risen ghoul rushed off to happily eviscerate a zombie. "The Horde corpses are out there, and I'm in here," the death knight remarked casually, his voice reverberating with the power granted to him by his undead state. "Besides, I doubt anymore will miss them."

"That's not the point and you know it you damned fool! These people deserve better than that!"

"They aren't people anymore and you know it, you blind follower of a dead religion," countered the former human, his voice growing colder than normal.

"Why you little demonspawn! I'll teach ye to insult the Holy Light," shouted Pogsson, bringing his axe to bear. The death knight readied his own blade, and the two started to advance toward each other before the dwarf was restrained by the final member of their group, a Draeni shaman known only as Dasmykon. "Calm yourself my friends. This fighting serves none of us, and I have enough work patching you all up normally," he quipped, his rich voice rolling with his accent. "Come, Pogsson the Lesser has finished having his fun with the last of the undead. We should depart for the base camp and claim our reward."

"I told you not to call me Lesser," yelled Pogsson from where he was roasting undead, referring to the title Dasmykon used to distinguish him from Pogsson the paladin.

"I apologize my friend, and my point remains. Let us retire back to Stormwind for the day, our work is...Pogsson, watch out for that shelf!"

"Wait, me or the Palad..OOF!" The mage, not watching where he was going, had smacked into a shelf of old magical equipment, one of which blew up in his face.

"I'm all right, I'm all right! I had my shields up!"

His companions came over to assess the damage, while Dasmykos used his bond with the spirits of water to heal the minor wounds Pogsson had received from the explosion.

"You're one lucky little guy. If you hadn't had your defenses up we would have been having roast gnome," quipped Lep, a smile on her face.

"Did I hear little again!"

"No, of course not. Must have been your ears. I know not every race can have hearing as superb as that of the Kaldorei, especially with such small ears."

"Very funny. And you're right, not all of us have ears the size of arrows, so sorry for the flaws of my species. Now hush up and let me see if there are any devices on this shelf we can salvage."

"They're not arrowed sized," countered Lep, still smiling, "more like javelin sized."

"All right lass, quit yer quippin'. Stay here with Pogs while we head out. Meet us back up at tha camp."

"All right. Anything interesting?" the rogue asked, turning to her friend.

"Junk, junk, shiny junk, junk, horrific and powerful but unimaginative death beam, junk, junk, green junk, junk, no wait a minute, not junk. Potentially revolutionary experimental portal device. This should be interesting. Wait, no it's broken," sighed the gnome, tossing the junk over his shoulder.

"Doesn't it seem like the coolest toys always are? C'mon, lets head back. I don't want them drinking all the ale."

"Fine, fine. Stupid undead. I could've fixed that. Well, Pogsson could have, and I could have taken the credit."

The pair walked out of the room, the gnome muttering under his breath and the night elf smiling under her hood.

Unbeknownst to them, the portal device was functional, and Pogs' toss had reactivated it and set it to random. It's arcane mind scanned the area, determined that it's owner was not around, and proceeded to carry its last programmed instructions.

"Current program: random test portal. Scanning for safe location. Safe location found. Arathi Highlands. Executing test portal. Warning, extreme Nether instability detected. Cause: Massive shifts in magnetic and magical field of Azeroth. Portal destination unknown. Stabilizing portal. Stabilization complete."


	2. Chapter 1

January 6, 2011 AD

Washington D.C. United States of America

"Good morning Mr. President."

"Morning Bill. Anything urgent?"

"No sir, just the usual. The daily brief, breakfast, and your run."

"Sounds good. Let's see what James has to say about that Chinese stealth fighter."

Barack Hussein Obama, 44th president of the United States of America, strolled down the hallway of the White House that led to the briefing room. His new chief of staff, William Daly, followed behind him, typing furiously on his Blackberry. The young president had his own Blackberry, but was too preoccupied to use it at the moment. He always felt like this in the morning before his run. Whether that was drowsiness or the tension of waiting to hear if there were any new threats to his beloved country, he didn't know. As the President entered his briefing room, those inside stood, and saluted if they were military. Obama noticed that there were more people than usual, mostly military brass and a few cabinet members who normally slept in, such as Steven Chu, the energy secretary. What really caught his eye, though, was Robert Gates. The Defense Secretary was not much of a morning person, and tended to skip the briefings unless absolutely necessary. If he was here...

"Morning Rob," Obama said as he took his chair, as others followed suit. "Did aliens invade? That's the only thing I can think of that you'd get out of bed this early for," joked the president. Might as well make jokes, he thought, because if Rob got up then this must be serious.

The defense secretary smiled a little, before turning serious and answering in his faint drawl.

"You're closer than you know Mr. President. Three days ago, at approximately 1:37 PM Eastern, GOES-13, one of our weather satellites, picked up an odd phenomenon in the Nevada desert. The temperature at a certain location seemed to be lower than it should be, and the cloud cover over the region was higher than usual. NASA requested a flyover from one of our spy sats, and when they got it, yesterday, it spotted something very peculiar."

"Take a look at this," said Gates as he opened a manila envelope and placed its contents in front of the President. It was a photograph showing a stretch of the Nevada desert unremarkable but for the glowing, oval opening in space.

"The National Guard has been dispatched, and we're flying in a battalion of Marines from Camp Pendleton. We'll have the disturbance secured within four hours. However, there's no telling what might come out of it. This could be some bizarre new physical phenomenon, a precursor to alien contact, magic..." Gates trailed off.

"I've never bothered to ask, Robert, but could this be something out of Area 51? Could all those stories have something behind them?"

The Air Force Chief of staff, Norton Schwartz, spoke up.

"Mr. President, I can assure you that Area 51 is nothing more than a testing area for advanced fighters. There is no alien technology, magic, or any other such nonsense being studied there."

"Thank you General. So if it's not us, it's someone else, which begs the questions of who, and why. Has anything come out of the disturbance? Have any of our troops sent anything through?"

This time it was Secretary Chu who spoke up.

"Aside from the lower temperatures and higher humidity which revealed the disturbance to us in the first place, nothing has come out. The Guardsmen have been ordered to keep their distance, although one of them may have kicked a rock in or something. They're in full protective suits, and their gear includes a Geiger counter. I requested readings, and the results appear very strange. Nothing like anything I've seen in any physics laboratory. They're...spotty, I suppose is the best word. It's as if there's a low level ambient radiation source being turned on and off. The spikes are frequent and brief, and there's no logical pattern to them. Fortunately, the disturbance itself does not seem to be generating any sort of harmful radiation."

"Thank you Steven." The President leaned back in his chair, mulling over this information. Even if the disturbance wasn't harmful, and was localized, it was still very, very strange. Strange enough that the Republican effort to repeal the health care bill he had worked so long for would have to wait. Sighing, he made a quick prayer to God for strength, and leaned forward once more.

"Here's what I need. Robert, take us up to DEFCON 4, no need to panic quite yet. I want a list of all military units within operation range of the disturbance, and how soon we can get them there. Steven, I need you to oversee the scientific portion of this. That means NASA will be reporting to you in regards to this. You can commandeer some soldiers if you need to. Will, please make sure NASA knows that. Norton, have Area 51 go to high alert. If something hostile comes out, I want us to be able to get our planes out of there. James," he said, turning to the Director of National Intelligence, who normally would have read him the morning briefing, "I want a contingent from the CIA and NSA there to advise whoever's in command. Robert, who will that be?"

"Lieutenant Colonel Charles Sturgeon, once his battalion gets there, which should be soon."

"Good. He'll be in charge of this operation, so all non-scientific personal involved are to report to him. Janet," he now turned to the Director of Homeland Security, Janet Napolitano, "Have emergency crews standing by at least 5 miles away. I don't want civilians getting caught if something bad happens." Or if we need to cover up something, thought the president with a touch of black humor. "Will, get the congressional leaders scheduled for a meeting this afternoon. I don't care what they're doing, tell them it's about the health care bill, or tell them I'm planning to resign if they have to. Oh, and how soon can we get some sort of video feed set up from the site?"

"I instructed the Marines to take some equipment with them," replied Gates.

"Excellent. I'll leave you all to your tasks. I'm going to go for my morning run."


	3. Chapter 2

January 6, 2011 AD

Nevada Airspace

"Listen up marines!" barked Sergeant Major Theodore Bass, better known as Ted, or Sergeant Major Bass to any troops who didn't want to be yelled at so hard their ears fell off. "Aside from the National Guard, we're the first troops on the spot. That means when some tentacled horror pops out of that whateveritis, we're the ones who have to drive it back. Any man who goes insane from something as weak as a little eldritch abomination is gonna find himself running until his legs explode!" ranted the sergeant, shouting to be heard over the noise of the C-130 cargo plane that was transporting them to the Nevada wastes. "We're gonna be in charge of keeping the scientist types who're figuring out what we're dealing with safe. They die, we're blind, and I don't like being blind. Yes, Nahees, what is it?"

"Sir, what if whatever comes out is friendly?" asked Private First Class Thomas Nahees, 3rd Battalion, 1st Marines. "Like the original Day the Earth Stood Still, not that stupid remake, or..."

"You read too many books Private! We can't assume this is gonna be some nice friendly goddamn meet and greet! We have to assume the worst, and the worst is Cthulu! I like to think my marines can take on that squid headed puke, so prove me right! Now get prepped, we land in five."

As the massive cargo plane carrying 3rd Battalion came down for a landing on the hastily constructed runway, Private Nahees looked out the window at the Nevada desert. The first thing we need to figure out is what kind of world is behind that portal, he thought. Nahees had read enough fantasy and sci-fi to know that glowing oblong shapes were inevitably portals. He had also read enough fantasy and sci-fi to turn him into a bit of a space cadet, as his mother would have said. Not the best trait for a marine, and it got him into trouble with Sergeant Major Bass sometimes, but Nahees wanted to defend his country, so here he was.

The massive rear door of the cargo plane opened, revealing the dusty bleakness of the middle of nowhere. Getting the nod from Colonel Bass, Sergeant Major Sturgeon shouted over the engine noise, "3rd battalion, move it out! Rally area is by the marine flag! GO! GO! GO!"

As one, carrying their rifles and gear, the 3rd battalion ran out of the plane and headed for the flag that had been set up near the portal. They reached the designated area and began unpacking tents, communications equipment, and the video camera that would transmit images back to Washington.

"Nahees, Lopez, you're with me. We're science liason," shouted Corporal Claypoole, their squad leader. Nahees and his fellow private, Porfirio Lopez. They had apparently been lumped together in anticipation of a mission like this, since Lopez had a degree in physics from the University of Florida and Nahees was well known in his company as a nerd. Together, the fireteam jogged over to where a group of bespectacled fellows in white lab coats were standing.

"Corporal Rick Claypoole, 3rd Battalion, 1st Marines, reporting sirs. Behind me are Privates Porfirio Lopez and Thomas Nahees. We're your liaisons for this mission."

One of the scientists looked up.

"Ah, the Marines, good. We're about to do a test run of a reconnaissance robot through the disturbance, and we'd like Marines standing by in case of emergency. Please follow me."

As the strange crew wended their way towards the disturbance, the scientist, who introduced himself as Leo Spaceman, explained what they had learned so far.

"It does not appear to be emitting any sort of radiation. Our geiger counters do go off occasionally, but as far as we can tell any and all radiation is coming from inside the disturbance, not the disturbance itself. Worry not, the levels are far too miniscule to harm even the weakest infant, let alone a bunch of big Marines. Secretary Chu, I've brought the soldiers you requested."

"Ah, good to see you gentlemen. Steven Chu, energy secretary. I'm in charge of the scientists here, and I'll be giving you orders for the time being."

"An honor to meet you Mr. Secretary," said Lopez, stepping forward and saluting before holding out his hand. "Your work with atomic traps was absolutely fascinating."

"Thank you private," replied Chu, smiling from behind his round glasses. "Always nice to meet a fan. Let's get down to business. I requested a squad be loaned to me, and your Colonel suggested you."

"With all due respect sir, we're a fireteam," said Corporal Claypoole, "and I understand why the Colonel would have suggested these two, but I'm just a dumb jarhead. Why me?"

Chu raised an eyebrow. "A dumb jarhead you may be, but you also received a commendation for courage under fire, which specifically mentioned that you kept a steady head during an ambush. We might need that kind of calm before the day is out." He stopped in front of the disturbance. "Gentlemen, this could be the greatest scientific discovery since a caveman rubbed two sticks together and found fire. If this is a portal, as I suspect it is, you three will be the first living beings through. As soon as Colonel Bass signals that he is ready, we'll be sending a robot probe through. If it appears safe, you will be going through next. Follow me please."

The odd group walked towards a large table that had been set up near the scientist's tents. It was covered in all manner of scientific equipment, including the control station for the robot, a TALON recon 'bot. The robot's operator looked up and waved before going back to work, putting the diminutive machine through its paces to ensure everything was in order.

"That's Sandra Lap, our robotics expert. She'll be handling the robot for this mission."

"Ma'am," said Claypoole, giving the civilian a polite nod, as Lopez followed suit. Nahees didn't though, he was too busy staring at her. An elbow in his ribs from Lopez, who knew his friend was weak against women, put a stop to that, and he belatedly nodded as well.

As they waited for the go ahead, Nahees pondered their situation. This all seemed really rushed. They'd been here for all of ten minutes, and all-ready the higher ups were prepared to send in the marines. He glanced over at the portal, which from this angle showed what was on the other side; a stone room of some kind. His guess, again based on his genre savvy, was that one of the scientists was of the mad variety, and was rushing things so he could harness the energy of the universe and become a god. Or maybe the scientists just didn't want to lose a chance at seeing what was on the other side; too much sci-fi thinking could be a bad thing, he reminded himself.

"Gentlemen, lady, I have just received word that Colonel Sturgeon is ready, and we can proceed. Marines, please stand to the side of the robot. We don't want you getting roasted if the disturbance reacts...strongly.

The marines took their positions behind and to the side of the recon 'bot, which steadily moved towards the disturbance.

Chu looked at his watch.

"Time is currently 11:24 AM, eastern standard time, commencing with robotic probe of anomaly. Let's make history."


	4. Chapter 3

_AN: This is not actually the newest chapter. I've been posting this story on the Spacebattles creative writing forum since December, and there you can find the entirety of the written story, as well as various information about my intention for the fic._

"I can't believe we're going back to that damn, damp, dark hole in the ground," griped Pogsson Frostflame, as he and his party rode through the Darkwood of Tol Barad, which was fortunately clear of spiders, at least temporarily. "The last time I was there I nearly got blown up!"

"Quit yer whinin lad. Ye had yer shields up, remember? Or has tha brilliant Frostflame forgotten?"

"Hush you. If you had checked for more undead we would still be in Stormwind."

"I did check, there didn't appear to be none of the foul beasts left. I guess some more of them musta wandered in."

"Think of it this way Pogs, maybe this time you can find a piece of red junk to go with the green junk from last time," said Lep.

"Or perhaps I'll find a death beam with some imagination for once. The minute anyone figures out how to harness the energy of the universe, what's the first thing they do? Death ray, every time. I swear, maniacs these days." The gnome shook his head and continued grumbling.

"Inventive or not, it is still I who must fix you all when you are broken, so do try to avoid any accidents this time," requested Dasmykon, a slight pleading tone entering his voice. "I have had to head burns, frostbite, sword wounds, axe wounds, blunt trauma, bites, poison, diseases, diving sickness, air sickness, indigestion, swollen fingers, malaria, drowning, broken bones, stubbed toes and let us not forget the incident with the troll sweat."

The rest of the group shuddered. Except for Plaga; Pogsson had noticed that the death knight rarely displayed emotion, aside from anger occasionally. Such were the effects of being dead, he supposed.

"The robot is now approaching the anomaly," said the robot operator Sandy in a steady voice. Underneath her calm demeanor, however, she was mentally sweating buckets; no, scratch that, she had to have sweat at least oceans by now. She shook the stray thoughts from her head and refocused on her objective. Ahead of her, the TALON recon 'bot was steadily making its way towards the anomaly, with the three marines selected as first recon moving behind it and to the side.

"Robot has reached the portal. Extending grasping arm now." The arm, specially fitted to the robot for this mission, shifted from its resting place into the ready position. Slowly, it moved towards the anomaly, stopping just before touching the swirling maelstrom. Sandy looked to Secretary Chu and Colonel Bass, and past them to the video screen with President Obama staring down from it. Chu nodded to her. "Initiating contact." The robotic arm made contact with the anomaly. Everyone watching stiffened briefly when the shift occurred, then relaxed slightly when they realized that Cthulu wasn't coming to eat them.

"Anomaly is confirmed as what appears to be some manner of portal. Attempting to move through."

She pushed the joystick forward, and the recon 'bot lurched into motion, moving easily through the portal. Sandy looked into her camera and saw that there appeared to be nothing on the other side. Furthermore, and more importantly, the atmospheric sensors indicated that the air on the other side was perfectly breathable, if damp, which meant it was time for the Marines to earn their pay.

"Atmosphere is breathable, standard nitrogen oxygen mix, reasonable temperatures. No life forms in sight."

"Thank you Mrs. Lap," said Colonel Bass. "Looks like it's your turn boys. The TALON 'bot will provide a radio link and fire support, although I hope you won't need the latter.

Make me proud."

As one, the Marines saluted, turned, and marched into the portal, guns ready.

Pogsson roared as he blocked an undead's claw before bashing the unholy beast with his shield, while bludgeoning another one with his mace. He followed up by calling upon the light to smite the foul things, and sent bolts of holy energy streaking towards the zombies attacking him and his friends. The blessed light enraged those undead that were not stunned by it, causing them to turn and attack him. Pogsson smiled briefly. Perfect. Beside him, Plaga and his ghoul stood fast, cleaving and clawing undead apart while consuming what was left of their flesh with disease. Behind him, Pogs sent bolts of ice and fire, and sometimes fiery ice, streaking through various zombies, while next to him Dasmykon called upon the spirits of earth and sea, protecting those under attack with barriers of rock and soothing wounds with cooling streams of water. Pogsson couldn't see Lep, which wasn't anything unusual, but he suspected she was busy hunting down undead stragglers, her usual grin replaced with a cold, emotionless mask as she sliced and diced the beasts.

As the last undead stumbled and fell, Pogsson breathed a sigh of relief as Dasmykon's healing spell knit his wounds together. Another blight gone from the face of Azeroth. The paladin checked his light-blessed senses for more, finding a small group further into the hold. "C'mon then lads, we've got more undead to kill." No more was said; no more needed to be. The group had been working together for some time, and could anticipate what their leader needed of them. Dasmykon and Pogs regained their stores of mana, Plaga healed his ghoul, and Lep slipped back into the shadows. Together, the party moved on.

"All clear, moving to examine room," said Corporal Claypoole into the radio as he and his subordinates spread out to search the chamber. It appeared to be constructed of dark stone, possibly some kind of granite, and part of a larger structure, not to mention covered in dust and cobwebs. Shelves, desks and chairs littered the edges of the room, covered in detritus, much of which Claypoole was at a loss to identify. Some of it seemed familiar, such as what must have been a water pitcher, but other objects were utterly foreign. Private Nahees spoke up behind him.

"I knew it was a portal, even from the C-130. It was glowing and oval, how could it not have been. It's just like one from WoW."

"We don't have time for World of Warhammer, Private. Now go keep watch by the door; I want to know if you hear the wind blow, got it?"

"Yes sir," the private complied, grumbling.

"Sir, look at this device."

"What is it Lopez?"

"I found it next to the portal, it appears have some sort of readout."

"Let me see. 'magical field'? 'nether instability'? What is this nonsense?"

"It must be what opened the portal sir. Looks like this place was abandoned, and this device randomly reactivated just recently. Tell you the truth sir, I'm glad this thing mentions magic."

"Why's that?"

"It means we're not dealing Clarke's third law."

"Which is?" asked the Corporal, growing impatient.

"Oh, I know. 'Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic," piped up Nahees from where he was standing guard.

"Precisely. Magic we can handle, learn about, defend ourselves from. Technology of an equivalent level?" Lopez shook his head. "We would be powerless."

"I guess magic explains why you can read it in the first place. All right, so we've found what brought us here, let's get it back to the eggheads and.. what was that?"

The marines instantly shifted into fighting crouches and readied their weapons. They perked up their ears and listened.

"Sounds like some kind of shuffling Boss."

"Could be life forms," said Claypoole, too preoccupied to remind Nahees that he was Corporal, not Boss. He spoke into the radio.

"Command we have noises, possible life forms. Moving to investigate. Go silent, hand signals only."

The privates signaled acknowledgements, and Claypoole motioned them forward. Behind them, the robot followed on its tracks. They moved out of the room, into a corridor that branched off in three directions. The shuffling seemed to be coming from the front, so they moved forward, switching on their helmet mounted flashlights. They came to another intersection, and turned right, continuing through another intersection before stopping at yet another intersection.

Claypoole asked in sign, "Where's the noise source."

"Unknown sir. Source seems to be all around," Nahees signed back.

"Movement!" signed Lopez, tapping his comrades and bringing their attention to the direction from which they had come. A figure was standing there, clawing at the TALON. Claypoole stifled a groan as he saw the sensitive communications suite break. They were cut off. Then he got a good look at thing standing over the 'bot. It was hideous. Like something out of a movie, it's skin discolored and decaying, it's eyes white with cataracts, it's rotten lips pulled back from yellowed teeth. It was dressed in rags and was clawing at the TALON with a single mindedness that reminded Claypoole very uncomfortably of a movie monster. Pushing his fear into a corner of his mind where it would not bother him, Claypoole made his decision in a second.

"Go loud," he said calmly over the radio, raising his rifle. "Nahees, Lopez, cover front and right, I'll take left once I deal with this." He matched action to words, placing three shots in the center of the thing's chest. As the shots echoed through the corridor, a series of moans, one after another, could be heard emanating from the depths of the building. The thing continued to thrash, seemingly feeling no ill effects from the 5.56mm rounds that had perforated its chest. Claypoole prepared to try again when Nahees shouted back, "The head sir, shoot it in the head!" He complied, and was rewarded when the thing dropped on top of the TALON. Claypoole moved to cover the left tunnel, as the moans grew closer and closer. He sighted another of the things, and at the same time Nahees and Lopez shouted contacts and opened fire. Claypoole did the same, dropping one, two, three with precise bursts, but there were more and more of the things flooding in. "Nahees, Lopez, move back, we're going to bust through the right side!" The soldiers complied, and Nahees shoved Lopez next to Nahees. "Clear the tunnel, full auto if you need to. I'll hold them off!" The privates lined up their rifles and unloaded on the advancing things, dropping enough of them that the way seemed clear. "Go, now!" shouted Claypoole.

"But sir, what about you!" replied Nahees.

"You have your orders! Report back to command! We can't risk these things spreading!"

"Yes sir. Don't let them bite you sir."

"I don't intend to let them get close enough to try. Now move!"

Without another word, Nahees turned back and fled with Lopez down the tunnel. They reached the three way intersection and turned right, pausing only to gun down a group of undead coming from the left.

On the other side of the building, Lep's ears perked up. "I hear gunfire from the east wing." At once, the group was alert. "Let's go see who it is. They might be needin help against the undead, or a swift boot to the head if they be Horde," said Pogsson, smiling grimly at the prospect of bashing a few Horde skulls. He set off towards the east wing, the rest of his party in tow.

Nahees was breathing heavily. Fighting through the undead was slow going, as they had to avoid being bitten at all costs, and sometimes had to break out their K-BARS to avoid running dry. Behind him, Lopez was hyperventilating, and seemed near panic.

"Lopez, snap out of it! We haven't been bitten, we'll be fine."

"Easy for you to say! You're living one of your books! I'm just a physicist!"

"Fine then, next heroic sacrifice is mine."

For some reason, this made Lopez narrow his eyes and straighten up. He reloaded his gun, and one by one picked off the things in their way. "No way man. If anyone's going to die a hero, it'll be me. Hero's families get the big pensions." With that, he charged back the way they came, shouting battle cries in Spanish.

Nahees stared for a second, then cursed. He was alone now. That was never good. He pressed on, coming to another intersection. One more corridor and he was free! He raced towards the final intersection, checking zombies out of his way. As he reached it, a zombie, larger than the others, lurched out of the perpendicular corridor and blindsided him. He went down, thrashing, and lost his grip on his gun. He tried to pull out his K-BAR and give the zombie a new brain hole, but his arm was pinned. 'Oh well', Nahees thought. 'There are worse ways to go I guess. I'd have preferred a fantasy novel, but living out World War Z is cool in its own way.' With that happy, he prepared for the bite that would end his life. It never came. A force swept over him and smashed the zombie against the war. From what Nahees could see, it wasn't getting up, even though he didn't think it had been hit in the head. He turned to look at his savior, and felt his jaw dropping, as the diminutive figure said something in a language he couldn't understand.

"I said, ye looked like you could use a hand, lad."


	5. Chapter 4

President Obama watched grimly through his video link from thousands of miles away as the Marines and scientists at the portal worked frantically to restore radio and video communications with the lost fire team. This was all his fault. The whole operation had been rushed, and while they had avoided blowing anything up, there was a distinct chance that three brave young men were now dead at the hands of whatever lifeforms they had heard before their link what cut. Obama knew he had to act, but the proper course of action eluded him. On the screen, he saw that the Marines were moving the scientists back and forming a defensive perimeter around the portal. Obama nodded to himself; Colonel Sturgeon clearly knew what he was doing, and micromanagement wouldn't do anything but annoy him. He decided to let the Colonel work and hope for the best. After all, as much as people believed the President was omnipotent, there were some things even the leader of the free world could not do. So he waited, and prayed.

"Are ye deaf lad? I asked if ye needed help?" said Pogsson. The blank stare remained firmly on the human's face. "Is it me accent?" he asked his compatriots. They shook their heads. "Ooh, ooh, let me try. I've been working on a spell for just this very occasion," piped up Pogs.

"Really? I have that somewhat hard to believe, my friend. The last time you said that, the spell turned one of my totems into a piece of cheese."

"Hey, that cheese was perfectly delicious!"

"Enough you two," interjected Pogsson. "Now Pogs, what was the spell originally for?

The mage grinned sheepishly. "Burning out the parts of the brain responsible for language. But I can rework it really quickly so that he can understand our speech. It's a ritual though, so I'll need a piece of resonant glass, the head of a parrot, and five bear pelts." The others simply stared at him. "Okay fine, so just the first two. There goes Pogsson's Fur Trading Company."

"Why do we not do this? I will call upon the spirit of water to transform him words into common, and our words into his language." The Shaman closed his eyes and radiated a cool energy, which snaked around the strange human's head before dissipating. "There, it is done. Are you able to understand us, friend?"

The human didn't respond, instead staring at Dasmykon with wide eyes.

"Hah, looks like you burned out his language abilities instead. Now who's a crazy little bast...mmph!"

"Thanks Lep. C'mon lad, I know ye can hear me. What's yer name, fer starters?"

"P-private Thomas Nahees, 3rd Battalion 1st Marines, United States Marine Corps." The human's eyes went wide. "My comrades were attacked by those zombies! We have to go help them before they get bitten!" He looked ready to dash off.

"Slow down lad, ye nearly died just now. We'll go find yer friends." He turned to his companions. "I'll stay here and heal him up, you lot go find the other soldiers. Dasmykon, you're in command. Keep these lunatics from getting themselves killed."

The Draeni let out a long suffering sigh. "As you wish, my friend. Come, let us go. Please point us in the proper direction, Thomas Nahees." The soldier pointed wordlessly tohe corridor he had come down. As the group moved off, Pogsson assessed the human's wounds. "Yer not too bad. I may not be a healer, but the Light hasn't let me down yet." He put his hands together and uttered a prayer. "Holy Light that binds us all, give this human solace from the wounds that afflict him, and grant his friends your protection." Nahees felt peace wash over him, and watched, awed, as the minor wounds he had suffered closed without a trace.

"Wha...Was that magic?"

"No kind of arcane spell, that. That was the blessing of the Holy Light. Ain't you ever heard of the Light?"

"N-no, I haven't. Wait a minute, I'm so stupid. I should have said this earlier; I'm not from this world. I came through a portal in that room, from a planet called Earth. Now I know the idea of other planets might be a bit shocking, but.."

"But nothing lad. Do you think I'm some kinda imbecile. I fought through Outland, and Dasmykon still talks about the other planets he's been too sometimes, if I can get him drunk enough."

Nahees was taken aback. How could this be? Stone walled buildings, healing spells, dwarves; this should have been a fantasy world, and fantasy worlds weren't supposed to know about other planets, let alone have been to them. He shrugged mentally; that was a problem for another time.

"I think I'm ready to move now. Can your friends really fight off all those zombies?"

"I don't see why not. Their only a buncha filthy undead anyway; s'not like you can get turned without a necromancer or a batch of Plague around."

Nahees mentally slapped himself. He should have realized the zombies might not be infectious in a fantasy setting. But then again, given that he was speaking to a dwarven astronaut, it was better safe than sorry.

"I need to report back to my commanders. The portal room is right there. Could you have your friends bring Lopez and Claypoole back here?"

"Sure lad, I'll even make sure they're healed up for ya."

"Thanks. Wait, I just realized, I don't know your name."

"Pogsson Wildbeard, Paladin of the Holy Light, pleased ta meet ya." The dwarf proffered his hand, and Nahees shook it.

"Well Pogsson, thank you for the rescue. Even if the bites aren't contagious, I still didn't want to find out how else they could have killed me."

"Don't mention it. I wouldn't be much of a Paladin if I didn't help those in need, 'specially when it's someone fighting the light-damned undead. Go report ta yer leaders, I need ta go make sure Pogs hasn't blown anything major up." With that, the dwarf strode off.

Nahees shook his head briefly. He was in a fantasy world. His friends wouldn't believe this. In fact, he wasn't quite sure Sergeant Major Bass, or Colonel Sturgeon, or Secretary Chu, or even the President would believe him. He shrugged. Nothing for it but to see if they would at least listen, he thought as he headed for the portal.


	6. Chapter 5

The watchers at the portal were nervous, none more so than Dr. Steven Chu. He was in charge of the scientists, and he was the one who allowed Dr. Spacheman to push forward with almost reckless speed, disregarding the numerous things that could have gone wrong. His reason's had been sound: Normal airflow means that the other side is neither toxic nor made of antimatter, the soldiers could be equipped with NBC gear, there was no sign of Cthulu. But they didn't have any NBC gear, and just because the other side appeared normally proportioned for humans didn't preclude the chance of something else waiting on the other side. Chu had let Dr. Spacheman rush this, and the reason was simple: for science. His own scientific curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he could not stand the thought that the portal might close, forever depriving humanity of such a magnificent discovery. Wrapped up in his thoughts, he at first did not hear the shouts of the soldiers as a figure walked slowly through the portal with his hands up. It was one of the Marines from the recon team...no, thought Chu, it was one of the sacrificial lambs he had offered up on the altar of science. He mentally kicked himself several more times before regaining composure and running over to the hastily erected barricade.

"Stop right there marine!" He shouted at the man. "Some clean suits have arrived, and you're going to put one on right now."

Colonel Sturgeon, who had walked up to see what the commotion was, nodded in agreement.

"Do as the doctor says, private."

"Yes sirs!" Nahees hollered back. A second TALON recon 'bot was brought out clutching the clean suit in it's grasper hand. It wheeled over to Nahees, who took the suit and, after several minutes of struggling with it, managed to get it on and sealed. He looked to his commander, who pointed to a tent that had been erected in his absence. He went inside and was nearly knocked off his feet as a shower of high pressure water and sterilizing fluids poured down on him. When he had spent a good five minutes being battered by cleanliness, the tent flap opened and he was allowed to step out. He was ushered to the command post, where Sergeant Major Bass waited to debrief him. Behind the sergeant stood a bank of video cameras and monitors, transmitting his image to Washington, as well as to Dr. Chu and the scientists, who were not present for their safety, and showing him who was watching from behind the cameras.

"All right Nahees, what the hell happened in there? Where are Lopez and Claypoole?" asked Sergeant Major Bass, his voice almost a growl." Nahees floundered for a bit, wondering how to explain what he had seen, before his military training took over.

"Sir, Lopez, Claypoole and I were attacked by some manner of hostile life form. The first one we encountered broke the comm suite on the TALON, cutting off communications. Corporal Claypoole told us to retreat and report back while he held them off at a corridor intersection. Lopez did the same, and I nearly made it to the portal when one of the lifeforms managed to knock me down. I was rescued by another group of different lifeforms, who spoke a language I could not understand until one of them did something which made them perfectly comprehensible. They patched up my wounds and went to find Lopez and Claypoole."

Sergeant Major Bass stared at Nahees for what seemed like hours, before finally shaking his head and sighing. "What do you think of this sirs?" he asked, turning back to the monitors. Dr. Chu was the first to speak.

"I'll need more information. Describe these lifeforms that attacked you."

"Well sir, at risk of sounding insane, they seemed almost like zombies."

"Nahees, you read too many books."

"That's enough Sergeant Major. What about the life forms that rescued you? Describe them."

"Well Mr. Secretary, they were all different. The leader was humanoid, but short, about half my height. He spoke in an accent that reminded me of a Scottish accent, and he described himself as 'a paladin of the Holy Light.' I think his name was..."

Pogsson Wildbeard was having an interesting day. First the undead returned to Farson Hold, then he came upon the first strange human, and now he had found two more of them. The second, slightly darker skinned than the first, had been unconscious, but surrounded by reslain undead. When awakened, he had mumbled some gibberish that sounded like 'Mi familia', and when translated his first words had been questions about where his friend was. Lopez, this human called himself. The third human was easy to find, if one simply followed the trail of dead. Lopez said he must have tried to draw the beasts off, and a magnificent job he had done. When the party found him he was sitting against a wall, barely conscious, but surrounded by dozens of undead with holes in them. Pogsson nodded approvingly, before helping Dasmykon attend to the man's wounds, which were severe. Upon reviving and being translated, his first question was about his men as well.

"Did my men escape?"

"Relax lad, I found yer man Nahees 'bout to become an undead's dinner and sent him home, and Lopez is right here."

"That's good to know." Knowing his men were safe, Claypoole allowed himself to pass out from exhaustion.

"Well tha's just great, now we gots ta carry this great lug. Plaga, Dasmykon, heft him for me would ya. Lopez, would ye mind leading us back to yer commander? I want ta know why ye were sent in without warning of the undead."

"I can answer that," replied Lopez. "We didn't know that undead existed until just now."

"Huh. Yer buddy hadn't never heard of the Holy Light before neither. Now I really want to meet yer commander." They made the rest of the trip to the portal room in silence. Upon arrival, Pogsson thought briefly before deciding.

"Ok, here's how this is gonna go. Plaga, Lep, and Pogs will stay here and make sure nothing comes through while we're chattin up these fella's leaders. Dasmykon, you're with me, help me carry him," he said as he took the burden of the unconscious marine from Plaga, his small frame belying his considerable strength.

"Ok, Lopez, please head out first. I don't want yer friends shooting us with their fancy rifles."

Lopez complied, and the dwarf and Draenei followed him through the portal.

"Freeze!" shouted a commanding voice the moment they were through. As Pogsson's eyes adjusted to the harsh glare of the sun, he took stock of his surroundings. He was in a desert of some kind, one not as bad as Tanaris but still not a cheery spot. A number of humans dressed similarly to the lads they had rescued were crouched behind barricades of some kind pointing guns at them. He complied quickly, and saw that Dasmykon had done the same, while Lopez had saluted.

"Sergeant Major Bass sir, Private Lopez reporting back. I understand Private Nahees has returned ahead of us sir."

"That's correct Private," answered one of the humans. Bass, Pogsson assumed, though he couldn't understand the human's words. "I just finished debriefing him, and now the scientists are taking over. Are these the other lifeforms he mentioned?"

"Yes sir. They saved us from the zombies."

"Even if they mean us no will, they're still going to need to be isolated, and you as well We can't tell what kind of germs they might carry, or what our germs might do to them. Same goes for you. Is Corporal Claypoole stable?" As he spoke, a mechanical contraption rolled forward clutching two lumps of white material. Lopez took it, and put it on, revealing it to be an all encompassing garb of some kind, before putting it on the still unconscious Claypoole. Bass shouted some more words Pogsson couldn't understand, and Lopez saluted, before motioning to the Azerothians to set Claypoole down and follow him. They entered a tent made of the same material as Lopez' suit, and were greeted by a bank of boxes showing the faces of several humans. Sitting in the tent was Private Nahees.

"Good ta see ya lad. We found yer buddies and brought em back, safe and sound."

"Thank you Pogsson." He went over to Lopez and enveloped him in a bear hug, which the other human returned, before turning to Dasmykon. "Say, do you think you cast that language spell on yourselves? My bosses want to debrief you, and they're not here."

"I have cast it enough to be able to use it inversely. Let me call upon the spirits." Dasmykon closed his eyes, murmuring, and Pogsson felt the cooling presence of water swirl around his head. The shaman opened his eyes, looking shaken. "The elements of this world are weak, confused. The damage is not as severe as Azeroth, but it is there. I will need to contact the Earthen Ring."

"I'm afraid that will have to wait, Mr. Dasmykon," said one of the humans in one of the boxes, which Pogsson could only assume were scrying crystals of some strange sort, not that he had any aptitude for the arcane. "My name is Barack Obama, and I'd like you both to answer some questions for me and my staff."


	7. Chapter 6

The President of the United States of America, said by many to be the most powerful man in the world, was almost scared. He didn't show it, maintaining the demeanor of icy calm that he usually projected when he was serious. He wasn't precisely scared either; nervous would have been a more accurate term. Facing him through the monitors were two beings with staggering amounts of potential. One was strange enough; a short, stout fellow with a red beard who identified himself as a dwarf. The other, a blue skinned humanoid with a bony plate on his forehead, chin tentacles, hooves and a tail, was definitely stranger. It was not the appearances of these beings that made the president nervous; it was what they represented. A new world of with multiple sentient species, and the power to inadvertently open portals to other worlds, through magic of all things. The implications were more numerous than he could count, and those were just from Private Nahees' debriefing. Still, these strange people, if that was even the right word, seemed friendly enough, which was why the president was merely nervous, not scared.

"What would you like to know, Your Majesty?" asked the blue skinned being, who had identified himself as Dasmykon, snapping the president out of his musings.

"Just President Obama or Mr. President will be fine, thank you. My nation doesn't have a king. We were born from a rebellion against a king, in fact."

"I see. Do you follow a religious leader perhaps, as we Draenei do?"

"No, we have no official religion in the United States. There are other countries that do though. Now, I'd like to ask if either of you know how you came to be here?"

If either one of the strangers thought the lack of king or religious leader odd, they didn't show it. Instead, the short one, Pogsson Wildbeard, spoke up.

"We came through that portal Mr. President."

"And were you the one to open the portal Mr. Wildbeard?"

"Ah Light no. I wouldn't know a reagent from a staff. I'm no arcanist, that's fer sure. One of my comrades might know, but I stuck him back at the portal so the filthy undead couldn't get through." The dwarf's eyes lit up. "Wait a tick, I know what it was! Pogs mentioned he found a portal device the last time we were clearin' out Farson Hold a few days ago, but he said it wasn't workin'. Perhaps he was wrong, and he'll hate that fact, thats fer sure."

Obama nodded; the portal appeared a few days ago. An aide came over and whispered into his ear. "Mr. President, the CIA contingent is on site and ready to take over the interrogation."

"Thank you, but tell them it's a debriefing, not an interrogation. We don't want to alienate these aliens."

In the tent, another monitor lit up, showing a nondescript man, who was so average a writer would be hard pressed to find more to say about him than 'nondescript'.

"Gentlemen, I will be taking over your debriefing. Let's start with a few basic questions. How many comrades in your group?"

"Five. Myself, Dasmykon, Plaga, Lep, and Pogs."

"Why were you in that building?"

"The Baradin Wardens asked us ta clear out some undead the other day, but more musta wandered in, so they sent us back out."

"Are these Wardens the faction you belong to?"

"No, no, we belong to the Grand Alliance. Each of us owes allegiance to his or her monarch or leader, but unless we receive conflicting orders we're free to take jobs from whoever we like. Some people call us adventurers. I don't like the name though, makes us sound like mercenaries, which we sure as Nether aren't. We're those who set out to make our own fortunes, but still want ta help our people."

"I see. Who belongs to this Grand Alliance?"

"Well, it started as an Alliance of human kingdoms to drive back the Horde. They managed to bring the elves and us dwarves in. After the second war we all went our separate ways until the Scourge came. Lordaeron was ruined, but by then Stormwind had been rebuilt. When the Burning Legion was defeated at Mount Hyjal, the humans of Stormwind and the new settlement of Theramore joined with the night elves, us dwarves, and the gnomes to form the Alliance. The Draenei, like Dasmykon here, joined later, and recently the human kingdom of Gilneas rejoined, though they're a wee bit different now, being Worgen and all."

The man simply stared, and said "Mr. Wildbeard, we have no notion of your world's history, culture, politics, or even geography. I'm afraid we're going to need you to start from the beginning. You mentioned a Horde which the Alliance was formed in opposition to. Start from there."

As the CIA agent slowly and methodically worked his way nearly thirty years of history, President Obama turned to his staff.

"We need people who can speculate on the ramifications of this. Any suggestions?"

"Fantasy writers?" suggested one aide.

"Political analysts?" suggested David Axelrod, Obama's political analyst.

More suggestions were thrown out, until finally one of the Chief of Naval Operations' aides spoke up.

"I know someone who can help with the scientific and social consequences. There's a great STS program at Vassar College, and one of the professors is absolutely brilliant."

"Thank you commander. Have him flown in, and get that alternate history author, Turtledove. That kind of thought is just what we need now. I think we can handle the politics, eh Dave?" he said, smiling at his political advisor.

"Yes Mr. President," said Axelrod, smiling back. They turned to the screen once more, where the CIA agent was wrapping up his questions.

"So this Deathwing caused major natural disasters and climate shifts, igniting the cold war between the Horde and Alliance. Is that about right?"

"Seems so."

"All right then. There will be more questions later, but that wasn't bad for such a brief overview. Is there anything you gentlemen need?"

"We've got food and drinks, but I'd like to see how my mates are doing." Obama chose this time to speak up.

"We can have them brought in if you'd like. Our men will take over watching the portal entrance. Is there anything they should know about these undead?"

"There shouldn't be anymore of the beasts left, but if one happens ta stumble tell yer soldiers ta aim for tha head."

"Thank you Mr. Wildbeard. Please inform Private Nahees should you require anything." He nodded to the tech, who shut off the camera linking him to the tent. He turned to the rest of the monitors, showing the scientific, intelligence, and military command centers. "It's clear to me that this is the most momentous event of our lifetimes. We need to be cautious, but the rewards we can reap from this new world are tremendous. I trust you will all do the best you can, and I am counting on you as my people on the spot. Thank you. Having said that, I don't think separate command centers are doing us any good. Makes life harder for the techs, for one thing," he said jokingly. "In all seriousness, we need a unified command structure. Therefore, I will be flying there myself this evening, following a meeting with congressional leaders. I expect a single command post when I get there. Dr. Chu is in charge until I arrive." Ignoring the shocked looks from some of his aides and cabinet members, the president continued. "Vice President Biden will hold down the fort here in Washington while I'm gone. I'll see you all tomorrow." He turned away from the monitors and immediately began issuing orders to his staff. "We're going to need a lot of experts for this, and they'll need somewhere to work. Is there part of the Pentagon we can use?"


	8. Chapter 7

President Obama strode purposefully through the halls of the Capitol building, a gaggle of aides following in his wake. The aides were mostly talking on cell phones, sending out email, preparing for the monumental undertaking that was any presidential trip. An entire 747 airliner, several fighter jet escorts, a motorcade, security, and the million other things that had to be taken care of to ensure that the world's most powerful man got where he was going with a minimum of fuss. Obama himself had other things on his mind. He had to tell the congressional leaders that a fairy tale had come true, and they had to prepare for potential negotiations with fantasy creatures. He had to convince the Republicans to forget about the health care repeal for even a little while; no easy feat, even though everyone knew it would die a slow death in the Senate. How to break the news was the most urgent question, since that was precisely what he would need to do in just a few minutes. He didn't think any of the leader would be offended on religious grounds for any reason, not even Mitch McConnell, who had always struck Obama as the most conservative. He supposed the video footage would have to do. As for his plans...Obama sighed. There was a good chance they would all, even Reid and Pelosi, object strenuously to what he proposed to do about the situation. If all else failed, he could always claim executive privilege, or simply have the data leaked. He smiled wryly. If there was one good thing about Julian Assange, the enigmatic head of Wiki Leaks, it was that he could be counted to leak anything he could get his hands on, even if it dealt with dwarves and magic.  
"Mr. President? We've arrived."

The sound of one of his aides snapped the president out of his thoughts.

"Thank you Matthew. Let's see what the legislative branch has to say about all this."

He opened the door and stepped through, into a well furnished meeting room, with a large oval table in the center and built in projector fired up and ready. Seated at the table were the four Congressional leaders: Harry Reid, Senate Majority leader; Nancy Pelosi, house minority leader; Mitch McConnel, Senate minority leader; and the newly appointed speaker of the house, John Boehner. The four stood up and greeted him.

"Sit down, please. We have a lot to talk about. I'm sure you're all wondering why you're here."

"We certainly are Mr. President. I imagine you know that John and I are busy drafting legislation to undo the crowning achievement of your presidency, so it must be very important for you to interrupt us," said McConnell, a bit sarcastically.

"What Mitch means is, we were literally in the middle of drafting that legislation in my office, and being dragged to the other side of the Capitol is a large distraction," said Boehner in a placating tone.

"Gentlemen, this is no time for good cop, bad cop," admonished Obama. "What I'm about to tell you is classified so secret that if you tell anyone: your aides, your families, even your dogs, the CIA gets to take you away and do nasty things to you. Are we clear?"

The legislators nodded, and Nancy Pelosi spoke up.

"While the thought of being tortured unconstitutionally is lovely, I'm just as curious as everyone else to know what's so important." Beside her, Harry Reid nodded in agreement.

"Very well. Lower the lights please." The president nodded to the aide manning the projector, who started the video of the debriefing. Obama noted the looks on the Congressional leader's faces as they saw the two aliens appear on screen. All of them, Republican and Democrat, seemed at a loss for words. on the Congressional leader's faces as they saw the two aliens appear on screen. All of them, Republican and Democrat, seemed at a loss for words. When the blue alien's hands glowed, allowing them to be understood, assorted gasps and noises of shock could be heard coming from the legislators. As the video wore on, Obama saw that the confusion began to fade, replaced by calculation as the congressional leaders began to consider the implications, just as he had. The video came to an end, and the lights came up once more.

"There you have it Congressmen, Congresswoman. We are faced with an entirely new world, with different rules from ours it would seem. They have access to magic advanced enough to open that portal by accident, and according to preliminary reports from the comprehensive questioning of the dwarf, fairly advanced technology as well, although no where near as widespread as ours. Most importantly, we have two new warring nations to deal with, in addition to a large number of other potentially hostile factions. What are your thoughts?"

Reid spoke up first. "Mr. President, this is astounding. We must contact the leaders of these factions, see if they can come to Earth. If we can start up trade, maybe get a free trade zone of some kind near the portal, the economic benefits would be incredible."

"We can't risk the safety of the United States just so you can get reelected Mr. Reid," retorted McConnell, referring to Reid's position as senior senator from Nevada. "We need to shut this portal down, or at the very least make sure any of these creatures can't come through and attack us. I don't like the sound of this 'Horde' the dwarf mentioned."

"Oh nonsense, they're clearly not evil. Remember Mitch, we talked to someone from the other side of a war. Imagine if someone asked the Japanese about us in 1945. That person would think we were demons come to Earth. I agree with Harry, we ought to send delegations to the leaders of the Horde and the Alliance. Maybe we can even get them to make peace with each other."

Boehner finally spoke up. "That's just what you're going to do, isn't it Mr. President? You just wanted to tell us so we would be ready to ratify whatever treaties get made."

"Very perceptive John. Yes, I am sending delegations to both factions, with heavy escort, as soon as we confirm that we can avoid massive biological contamination of some kind, like for instance the plague kind. The portal will be heavily guarded, and at the first sign of trouble the Marines will blow the device generating the portal. We'll see how the delegations go before we think about securing your reelection Harry," he said, smiling at Reid. His face turned serious once more, and he stood up. "Gentlemen, Madam, I will be flying out to Nevada myself to oversee things. You are all welcome to come with me, especially you Harry. Please make your choices soon, Air Force One is ready to go and will be gone as soon as I'm on board." With that, he strode out, leaving the leaders of Congress to their thoughts.


	9. Chapter 8

The giant 747 jumbo jet began it's descent towards the steadily improving runway in the Nevada desert. Inside, the President of the United States contemplated what lay before him. The documents containing information compiled from the debriefings of the five aliens, who he was going to meet soon, sat there in all their great and terrible potential. The thought struck him again that he was going to be able to meet aliens. Granted, one of them appeared human, but given what had happened to the man ex-human seemed like a more appropriate moniker. Obama chuckled; he was going to meet an X-Man. He thought back to what his wife had said when he had told her.

"Barry Obama, you know you shouldn't be going there yourself."

"Honey, it's a matter of national security. I need to meet these people in person, so that I can figure out how to protect us if something goes wrong," Obama responded. His wife simply gave him a stare.

"And what if something goes wrong while you're there? No, I know why you want to go; you just want to meet people out of your comics." Obama smiled and pulled his wife into an embrace.

"You know me too well sometimes," he said, smiling. "I love you so much."

"I love you too Barack, I'm just worried."

"Don't be. I'm going to have a small army between me and anything bad. I'll call you and the girls every night, okay?" Michelle sighed.

"I know I can't stop you, so go meet your comic books. I'll make sure the girls get their homework done."

They shared one last kiss before he left. The memory caused Obama to smile even wider, before he remembered where he was and what was in front of him. The dossiers revealed so much. The history, culture, and politics of this new world were all important and would have their place, but what worried him most now was the character of Azeroth. It was a world that had been at war for six whole years. Even longer, if one counted the preceding cold war, and the three wars preceding that. It had apparently gotten to the point where everyone had to know how to fight. The shaman had been a linguist, the paladin an engineer, the rogue a merchant, and the death knight a historian, who had actually proved very talkative when the topic turned to history, even as he remained stoic the rest of the time. Civilians who had lost everything and chose to fight. It explained a lot, such as why a seemingly important undertaking wasn't being done by an official army. These were the people who wouldn't fit into a standard army for whatever reason, so the forces of the Alliance contracted jobs out to them. Obama nodded to himself. It was a smart way of doing things. Minimal disruption to discipline and unit cohesion, and yet they still got the full value of the skills the adventurers possessed.

The 747 touched down on the runway and braked hard, as a plane of that sized needs to do, snapping Obama out of his reverie. He and his aides and Secret Service detail gathered up their effects and prepared to debark as the plane taxied to a stop. As the ladder was lowered, Obama squinted against the harsh desert glare. He made his way down and was saluted by the Marine honor guard hastily assembled from the assorted battalions present. Obama returned the salute, and made his way to where Dr. Steven Chu was waiting, along with the Marine Colonel in charge of the operation and the head of the CIA's contingent. He returned Colonel Sturgeon's salute and shook hands with Dr. Chu and the CIA head, Smith, that was his name.

"Gentlemen, how are we doing?"

"Good Mr. President, exceptionally good," answered Chu, the slight Asian man more animated than Obama had ever seen him. "We've learned so much just from talking to these people, and whats more, our tests have determined that there is a very low risk of any manner of infection making its way through the portal in either direction. It appears that the difference in ambient energy field levels renders infections from each world either impotent in their world or starving in ours. We have also determined that there appear to be very few biochemical barriers between our worlds."

"Ambient energy field?"

"I refuse to refer to mana or magic Mr. President. I acknowledge its existence and that it works, but the terms annoy me. Very unscientific, talking about magic and spirits." Colonel Sturgeon stepped up.

"Mr. President, we have a platoon guarding the portal on the other side. They have full NBC gear just in case the scientists were wrong, and we have recon bots combing the fortress. As far as we can tell, it's been abandoned for some time, with the exception of those zombies and the occasional crazy. It would make a good base of operations on the other side, and from what the natives told us there's a shipyard nearby, which would be useful if we can somehow assemble ships on the other side." He stepped back, allowing Agent Smith to give his report.

"Mr. President, I interrogated the Azerothians personally, and I must say that I'm somewhat worried. They throw around powers we've never even dreamed of without a care in the world. The ability to cure disease, to hide in plain sight, translation magic, not to mention everything that gnome does. They have organized governments and standing armies, and if they perceive us as a threat the warring factions would likely unite against us. In addition, they are the ones with the ability to create portals. Should hostilities break out, they could strike anywhere and we would be powerless. On an open field we would crush them fairly handily, but their magic is a powerful equalizer. On the other hand, we have a tremendous population advantage. As far as I can tell, the total population of Azeroth is somewhere between 100 and 200 million, counting only the Horde and Alliance races, which are the races I suspect we'll be dealing with the most." The nondescript man cleared his throat before continuing.

"I asked a psych expert to take a look at them, and he was somewhat disturbed by what he saw. They all show signs of some sort of trauma, some moreso than others. The three I'm most concerned with are the human, who shows signs of Schizoid personality disorder, the gnome, who is almost a textbook case of a persecution complex combined with histrionic personality disorder and what looks to be attention deficit disorder, and the elf, who seems to be bipolar and shows signs of dissociative identity disorder. I can see why they weren't allowed in the standard army."

As he finished, a Marine private who the President recognized as one of the initial recon team rushed up to Colonel Sturgeon, saluted, and whispered something in his ear. The Colonel's eyes went wide briefly before his face became a professional mask. He thanked the private and ordered him back to his post before turning to the President.

"Mr. President, it appears one of the Azerothians has vanished from the meeting tent we had set up. We don't believe you'll be in any danger, but I suggest you return to Air Force One immediately."

The President nodded and began to walk towards the plane, as his security detail surrounded him and the Marines readied their weapons and began looking around, alert for any sign of trouble. A noise near one of the tents drew the attention of the soldiers, who surrounded it instantly as the President drew closer to Air Force One. One of the soldiers told whoever was in the tent to come out, and a humanoid figure appeared in the tent. The soldier repeated his command, but the figure didn't move. Finally, the soldier cautiously, with gun ready, opened the tent flap, to find...a piece of cardboard, cut and painted in the shape of a human. It was waving jauntily, almost mockingly, back and forth on a spring. The soldier gained a new found hatred for cardboard.

President Obama had nearly made it to Air Force One, still surrounded by Secret Servicemen, when another noise came from the other side of the plane. A number of bodyguards went to investigate, leaving the President with only four. Wait, five. Obama stopped briefly. Where had that fifth secret service agent come from. And why did he have long ears? The President shouted in surprise, and at once was behind a bodyguard wall, all of whom were pointing their pistols at the Azerothian, who grinned, and vanished in a puff of smoke. As the President was once again surrounded by agents, a low, accented voice rang out.

"Lep! Quit yer foolin around an get back here. Ye nearly got shot ya daft girl!"

The extra secret service member, now revealed to be a purple-skinned humanoid of about seven feet tall, reappeared next to Pogsson, who was running up accompanied by the marines of the initial recon team.

"Aw, I just wanted to see how good the bodyguards here were. Not too bad, even if they were distracted too easily. Didn't leave the target alone or with only one guard, kept him surrounded. It'd be tough to do by myself, and he has no magical defenses, but if I wanted to sacrifice myself I think I could do it." Her face was utterly, terrifyingly cold and devoid of emotion as she said all of this. Then the purple skinned woman grinned in the direction of President Obama, her expression changing into one of absolute good cheer.

"Quite good. You should think about hiring them out; SI:7 might want some new body guar..Ow! You didn't have to hit me!"

"No, lass, I really did. See, yer one of mine team now, and I don't let my team get killed. I kept Pogs from blowing himself up fer this long, I can damn well keep ye from gettin yerself shot. Besides, if ye died Pogs'd be in quite a melancholy state, and I'd never hear the end of it from him." The diminutive figure turned to Obama and bowed.

"I apologize fer her behavior Mr. President. She may be older than I am, but she's still just outta childhood by elvish standards. Allow me ta introduce myself a tad more formally. Pogsson Wildbeard, of Clan Wildbeard, Paladin of the Holy Light, honorary Sergeant Major of the Alliance, Crusader of the Argent Dawn, Clan Ambassador, at yer service." He bowed once more, before offering his hand. Obama took it. It was thick and callused, and bespoke a life of work and fighting, as well as a stout strength. The dwarf turned to his companion. "This be Lep, the Killer, a recent addition ta me merry little band, and one of the finest infiltrators I've ever seen." Lep gave a strangely sinuous bow of her own.

"A pleasure to meet both of you. I hope we can work out a way to use this meeting to the benefit of both our peoples, and all the peoples of Azeroth and Earth. Don't worry too much about Lep's behavior. I'm fine, and my bodyguards haven't had this much excitement since a couple of drunk lunatics tried to rob the white house." The President chuckled, remembering the incident. "I'd like to meet the rest of your team before I announce my decision. Private Nahees, correct?" he asked, speaking to one of the Marines who had accompanied Pogsson.

"Y-Yes Sir," the private stammered as he saluted, undoubtedly nervous at being addressed by the President.

"Please, lead the way back to the meeting tent. I'd like to get this show on the road."


	10. Chapter 9

The President stepped inside the tent as one of his agents held the flap for him, and moved briskly to the fold out meeting table that had been set up in the middle. On one side sat the remaining members of Pogsson's band. There were empty chairs for Pogsson himself and Lep, who entered behind the president, along with his entourage. The Secret Service members were still watching Lep closely. Some watched warily, a few admiringly, and one, who wasn't married, watched her very closely indeed. Opposite of Pogsson's group were the chairs set up for President Obama and his advisers, who proceeded to take their seats following the president. When everyone was seated and the tent flap closed, Obama cleared his throat and began talking.

"Gentlemen, madam, while I appreciate the distraction from the serious issues that lie ahead, I'm afraid that we can no longer ignore the pressing question of what to do with you. Well, not you all individually, but rather your world. As president I am tasked with keeping my country safe, and if that means invasion I will invade. If that means nuclear weapons, I will use them." Obama noticed that the gnome's expression became a strange combination of pained and enraged, and he suspected that the mage would have started yelling his head off, or possibly just blown something up, if Pogsson hadn't placed a hand on his shoulder. Evidently they knew about Hiroshima and Nagasaki. He sighed inwardly and continued. "If that means doing nothing, I'll head back to Washington and laugh when the Health Care repeal bill dies in the Senate. However, after much consideration, I have determined that none of those are the correct course of action. I will treat The Horde and The Alliance as I would any other nation that has not shown hostility to the United States. I will try diplomacy first."

"But sir, you cannot be diplomatic with the Horde! They are nothing but monsters and killers, especially the Orcs." Obama was a bit surprised to hear Dasmykon, whom he had heard was generally quiet and respectful, make such a hate filled outburst. Then he remembered the debriefing. The Draenei had been mild, until the time came to recount the fall of his home to the Orcs, at which point he had become enraged and had to be calmed down by Pogsson.

"I understand that your people have quite a few problems with the Orcs, but past wars should not prevent future peace. If you all have heard about the Second World War, then I assume you know that Japan and Germany are now our steadfast allies."

"See, that's tha thing that puzzled me tha most. How do ye just up an fergive yer enemy like that?"

"Because the alternative, Mr. Wildbeard, is to suffer what your world has; years upon years of war and suffering."

The Azerothian side of the table bristled at the slight to their home, with the exception of Plaga. The Death Knight simply sat, stoic as ever. Truth be told, he unnerved the president, and from what he had read in the debriefings, the man had that effect on his teammates too. Lep said she had worked with Thassarian, a high ranking Death Knight, and found him perfectly cordial, so perhaps Plaga was simply creepy without factoring in his undead status. He shrugged mentally; baseless speculation had it's time and place, which was not here or now.

"This is far more important than any of us, or even any of our nations or kingdoms. This meeting affects the fate of two worlds, and I will not be the one to damn both worlds to destruction. If diplomacy fails, we will wage war, but until that time comes I will treat Azeroth as an opportunity, not a potential disaster."

Besides, he thought to himself, what does the U.S. have to gain from another war. If we start one, we're the only place on the planet with a portal, and U.S. territory is invaded for the first time since the War of 1812. If we make peace, we control the only entrance to Azeroth, and all the trade benefits and tariffs.

"As I said, this is bigger than any one nation or people. As such, I will be inviting the leaders of the Horde and the Alliance to New York City, to speak at the United Nations."

"This United Nations is some form of overarching regulatory body, correct?"

"That's right Mr. Frostflame. The UN was formed after the Second World War to prevent such a large scale conflict from ever breaking out again."

"Hmm, fascinating. How successful has it been?"

"Well, since there hasn't been a World War Three, fairly successful. War hasn't gone away, but it's been reduced in a way."

"Indeed. What can you tell me about the organizational structure of this body? How are members admitted? What kind of divis...MMPH!"

"Thank you Ms. Lep."

The rogue gave him an unsettling toothy grin as her diminutive friend glared at her.

"Mr. Wildbeard, we are planning to release you and send you all back through the portal with a message for your leaders. Are you willing to bear this message?"

"Aye, I think we can do that. Matter of fact, I can send Pogs and Lep to Kalimdor while the rest of us can bring word ta King Varian and tha Council."

"Very good. I'll have Privates Nahees and Lopez, and Corporal Claypoole, work with you on translating the messages to your native languages. I will have the delegations prepared in a weeks time and..." It suddenly occurred to the President that he had no idea if Azeroth even had a time keeping system anything like that on Earth. From the way Dr. Chu had adopted an expression of shock and annoyance, it was clear he had thought of the same thing and was kicking himself for forgetting to ask. However, both men were surprised when Pogsson simply nodded.

"Seven days, right ye are. If I may ask, how are ye gonna go about talkin ta tha Horde?"

"We were going to approach the Horde base camp on this island under a flag of truce. Would you suggest something different?"

"Nay, I suppose not. Be careful though, unless ye're real clear about yer intentions, they're likely as not ta just attack. Ye might want ta bring something that can deal with blades. From what I can tell those fancy vest yer troops be wearin won't be worth much against a good sword or axe."

"Thank you, we'll keep that under consideration. Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure to meet you, recklessness aside, but I have a lot of work to do, so if you'll excuse me..." With that, Obama stepped out of the tent and headed toward the combined command post to start hearing reports, leaving the Azerothians to begin drafting the fateful messages.


	11. Chapter 10

"Once Enurak was freed from the vile beast's control, he and I retreated to the surface with the adventurers who freed him. We suspect that Neptulon has been taken to the Naga capital, where they intend to break him," said Captain Reginald Taylor, his gruff voice somber as he delivered the bad news. His friend Erunak Stonespeaker spoke up in a deep, rich voice.

"Your Majesty, I needn't tell you what a catastrophe it would be should Neptulon break from the insidious whispers of the Naga and their dark allies. I have heard those whispers, and they are not easy to resist. I was captured by one of the smaller breed, and it still had me nearly kill a dear friend; imagine what the great leviathan Ozumat could do."

Varian Wrynn, King of Stormwind, sat on his throne as he pondered the development. Apparently, while Taylor and the SEALs had been successful in driving away the beast that had been wreaking havoc on Stormwind's shipping, it had escaped with the elemental lord of water, and could return even more terrible than ever. Still, the leaders of the Naga attack were dead, with Taylor having slain a Sea Witch himself, and they had time to prepare a counter attack to stop Neptulon from being turned against them.

"Thank you for your report Captain. I'm instructing General Jonathan to give you leave. You deserve it."

"I thank you, Your Majesty, but I would like to be back in the field."

"You would question an order from your King, Captain?" asked Varian, his tone amused. To his credit, Taylor simply straightened further and replied, "Of course not, Your Majesty, but we need to be prepared for the battle with the naga, and I know how to fight them the best."

"Your zeal is a credit to your kingdom, Captain, but you've been through quite a bit. I can't have one of my best officers burning himself out. I'll tell General Jonathon to halve the leave, but you'll spend the rest of what you would've had training new SEALs, not out in the field."

Although it didn't seem possible, Taylor straightened even more, and saluted. "Thank you, Your Highness." Varian waved him to stand at ease, and turned his attention to the Broken Shaman. "Erunak Stonespeaker, your service to the crown has been substantial. Is there any reward that you desire?"

"I thank you, Your Highness, but I am a simple shaman. I could ask for nothing more, except for the opportunity to accompany Captain Taylor in the future."

"You are too modest. You shall both have a reward of gold with which to fund your relaxing. And don't try to get out of this; you've both earned it."  
Rather than argue, Erunak simply bowed, and Captain Taylor saluted. They then turned and left the throne room, chatting like the old friends that they were.

Varian sighed. The day was long, and the business of running a kingdom was tiring. He looked to his right. "Anduin, what's next on the agenda?" Beside him, his son, Prince Anduin Wrynn, flipped through the planner he was learning to use as best he could. Varian always felt that there was more to ruling than battle or speeches. A good ruler needed to know how to organize things, and he proudly admitted that Aduin was far more adept at such things than he ever would be. The lad was different from him, undoubtedly. Where Varian was loud, charasmatic, and at times brash, his son was quiet and thoughtful, though no less brave than his father. He took after his mother. Varian sighed inwardly; he missed Tiffin dearly.

"Well Father, a group of adventurers has a report they would like to make. They claim to have meet humans from another world, and have a message from them."

"Hmmm, humans from another world. I wonder if that's where Garona's human parentage comes from."

"Actually Father, Garona is half-Draenei. I did some research and..." Anduin paused and looked down at the sight of his father staring at him. The king quickly recovered his composure and reassured his son, "don't worry, I'm not mad, just surprised that you would think to check something like that." He ruffled his son's hair. "You'll make a fine king one day, if you attend to your people's needs with such an eye for detail." He looked to the royal guard. "Let the adventurers in. Let's see if these tales are true, or just another group with too many collective blows to the head."

The guards complied, and in walked the party. There were only two of them, a dwarf and a human. They came before the throne and bowed. The dwarf, apparently the leader, straightened up and took a letter out of his pocket, along with a strange device the likes of which Varian had never seen before. The dwarf spoke up.

"Hail, King Varian, steadfast ally of Ironforge and the Dwarven peoples. My name is Pogsson Wildbeard, of Clan Wildbeard, and this be Plaga of the Ebon Blade."

"A pleasure, gentlemen. I have heard tales of your exploits before, Pogsson of Clan Wildbeard. You bring honor and glory to the Alliance."

"Thank you Yer Majesty, it's an honor ta hear that. I bring a message from the leader of a place calling itself the United States of America. He wishes to send a delegation ta Stormwind fer trade negotiations and peaceful contact."

"I've never heard of such a kingdom. Is it in Kalimdor? Some long lost offshoot of humanity?"

"Nay, Yer Majesty. I believe it ta be on another world entirely. There's a portal on the isle of Tol Barad, which I believe one of my group was accidentally responsible fer. It opened inta a desert within their borders. They sent a few soldiers ta investigate, and me crew saved the lads from some undead that had wandered inta Farson Hold, where the portal is located. They took us through and held us fer a few days, asked us all sorts of questions about Azeroth. I don't think they'd ever heard of us before."

"Us? Stormwind, or the Alliance?"

"Any of us Yer Majesty. The Alliance, tha Horde, Azeroth, the Titans, the Holy Light," he bowed his head as he said that, "none of it. They had technology the likes of which I've never seen, and I'm a trained engineer. What's stranger, they claimed they couldn't use magic. The magic users of me group confirmed that tha ambient mana field felt thinner, but not so thin as ta make magic impossible. Here's tha letter they had us transcribe." He handed the document, written on a type of parchment Varian had never seen before, to the king. He opened it, and found it embossed at the top with a colorful seal, featuring a bird of prey of some sort; an eagle, it appeared. The body of the letter was written in Human runes, but in some glossy black ink, again unlike anything the king had ever seen. He began to read. The letter began with assorted hails and salutations, from a 'President Barack Obama' of the United States of America. Varian frowned. Either this was an elaborate prank for which someone was getting thrown in the Stockade for a spell, or there was a portal to another world on Tol Barad. The last otherworldly portal had unleashed the Orcs upon his home; he hoped this one would bring happier things. He continued reading.

"I lead a great nation, the greatest in the world some would say. Our world has no magic, but our technology is strong. If offered violence, we could and will respond in kind. However, we have no desire for war. We offer peace, and hope you will respond in kind."

The letter continued with its odd mix of threats of war and pleas for peace for a page, before ending with an elaborate signature. Varian sat back in his throne and pondered the implications. They offered peace and trade, and were apparently human. There had to be some trick here.

"What was their response when they discovered the Horde?"

"The Horde never came near Farson, which I found a tad odd. We told em though. Their President decided ta negotiate with tha Horde, same as us. When I left they were tryin ta figure out how ta get within spitin distance of Hellscream's Reach without bein fired upon."

"Negotiate? With the Horde? Preposterous! They may as well slit their own throats. I have half a mind to tell them to go to the Nether and frolic with demons, and damn their technology."

"Father, please calm down. They could be valuable allies against the Horde, the Naga, the Twilight cultists, the servants of Deathwing..." The prince paused, hoping the lengthy list of Stormwind's enemies would convince his Father not to do anything rash.

"Don't worry boy, I said I have half a mind to tell them, and I'd need to only half a mind to pass up the chance to gain new allies. Paladin Wildbeard, what details can you give me about this delegation?"

"They said they'd be coming in about a week's time. Ah, that's right, they gave me somethin ta show ye what tha delegation would look like," he said, reaching for the strange object he had put back in his pocket. The dwarf set it on the ground, pointed it towards a wall, and pushed a button. An whirring noise came from the device, and suddenly an image was projected onto the keep wall. It showed human figures, dressed in strange garb, holding what looked like guns. The image began to move, showing the figures going through some kind of drill. Once they had finished, the image changed to one of a human with dark skin, who began to speak.

"I am President Barack Obama, of the United States of America. This is simply a demonstration of one of our many technologies. I hope that we can meet face to face, once the delegation has established peaceful relations. I advise against any attempts at coercion, however, as the guards you just saw are highly trained, and will take any threat to the diplomats very seriously."

The image disappeared, leaving a confused king behind. No magic? Such things were not possible without magic, except perhaps in the mind of some Gnomish inventor. He needed to think about this before the delegation arrived.

"Thank you, Pogsson Wildbeard, Plaga of the Ebon Blade. I assume you will be taking this message to the Council of Three Hammers?"

"Aye, Yer Majesty."

"I'll have free tram passes made for you. Walk in the Light."

With that clear dismissal, the two bowed and left.

In Darnassus, The Exodar, and Ironforge, similar messages were being delivered. The Prophet Velen reacted with shock, though he did not show it. He had foreseen nothing like this. The ancient Draenei smiled. Even this could hold a blessing. A people of such talents would be powerful allies against the Burning Legion.

Tyrande Whisperwind and Malfurion Stormrage were somewhat troubled. From what Lep, that poor orphaned girl, had described, these people had technology akin to that of the Gnomes, or perhaps the Goblins. Neither was particularly kind to the wilds. This would bear watching, but together once more, they knew they could do anything.

The Council of Three Hammers had mixed reactions. Falstad Wildhammer was unhappy. His people in the Twilight Highlands had been attacked by the Horde, and the idea that anyone would negotiate with the beasts annoyed him. Muradin Bronzebeard was more neutral. Having fought with Pogsson at Icecrown, he was more inclined to trust the Paladin's assessment that these strange humans could be trusted. Moira Thaurissan was intrigued. The potential for new allies was always exciting, and this technology of theirs seemed interesting.

High Tinker Gelbin Mekkatorque shared Moira's last sentiment, but was horrified, as Pogsson Frostflame had been, to learn of the terrible destructive power the strange humans had unleashed, including weapons that could do to any city what they had done to their beloved Gnomeregan.

Genn Greymane shared Moira's first sentiment. New allies could help him take his kingdom back permanently from the damned Forsaken that were laying siege to Gilneas' northern borders.

With various feelings of unease, excitement, anticipation, and trepidation, the leaders of the Alliance descended on Dalran, where the delegation was to arrive.


	12. Chapter 11

To say that Garrosh Hellscream was frustrated would be a rather large understatement. He was up to his yeti skull pauldrons in paperwork, there were fifteen different petitioners waiting for a chance to speak with the Warchief, most likely to ask him for something, and the Durotar heat was killing him. To top it all off, Thrall had returned from the Maelstrom. While Garrosh was glad to hear that Deepholm wouldn't be falling on his head any time soon, having Thrall back meant more questions of whether he should step down and more political strife, a kind of battle Garrosh was less than accustomed to. He was the Warchief. His job involved cleaving the skulls of his enemies, not filling out forms and listening to people whine at him! He sighed, and got up from his desk. Walking through the magnificent city of Orgrimmar always helped him calm down, and it was a good way to beat the heat. As he left the fortress named for his father, his Kor'Kron guard fell in behind him. Garrosh hardly noticed, aside from faint pride at their discipline.

As he wandered through the Valley of Spirits, enjoying the cool breeze brought by the river, Garrosh noticed Thrall coming towards him. The former Warchief spotted Garrosh and walked over.

"Warchief. How goes it?"

"Spare me the honorifics, Thrall. You were warchief long before I was, and I know many would like to see you Warchief once more." Thrall's face darkened.

"Many would, but I am not one of them. You have earned your position, and I have much to do with the Earthen Ring. Muln needs all the help he can get dealing with the aftereffects of the Cataclysm. Let us talk of more pleasant things. Enjoying the breeze I take it?" Garrosh nodded, a tad sheepishly. It was not proper for a Warchief to simply enjoy the breeze. Thrall chuckled; he knew Garrosh, hailing from temperate Nagrand, was bothered by the heat. He also knew the orc was too proud to admit it.

"Tell me Thrall, how did you deal with it?" Garrosh spoke up suddenly. "The mindless drudgery, the constant nagging for favors and attention, the back biting. I find myself wanting to hit something, even more so than usual."

"Hmmmm...Your temperament is much like your father's. Please, no Mak'Gora challenge this time. I meant to say that from what I have heard, when Grom was younger he was extremely impatient with the day to day tasks of running the Hellscream Clan. By the time I met him he was an able administrator, as he needed to be to keep his Clan free without starving. Besides, if you can't handle it, just delegate to someone else."

"I am the Warchief. My people's needs are my responsibility, in matters of war and peace. I will shoulder this by myself."

"Pride can consume a man, Garrosh. Make him think he can do anything, make him blind to his mistakes. I would be careful that doesn't happen to you. Besides, delegating is not a sign of weakness, especially if you can find someone who knows more about whatever the issue is." Garrosh was silent, contemplating. Thrall hoped his words had penetrated Garrosh's at times thick skull, but the fact that they were not in the Arena fighting to the death again gave him hope. As the two stood together, an Orc in the flying harness of the Orgrimmar Wind Rider Corps ran up and saluted.

"Warchief, I bring an important missive from Hellscream's Reach."

"Speak up then. Have we kicked those miserable Alliance wretches off of Tol Barad?"

"N-no, Warchief. The Reach say they have been approached by a group of strange humans under a flag of truce. The humans came through the Darkwood, not from the Baradin camp. They say they are not part of the Alliance and are from another world entirely, and wish to enter into peaceful negotiations." The airman fished something out of his satchel. "I was told to give you these," he said, handing a letter and a strange device with a diagram attached to it to the Warchief. Thrall quickly took both from him, knowing that he might destroy both.

Garrosh's jaw tightened, and when he spoke, his voice had a sinister growl to it. Garrosh had not learned to imitate his father's fearful scream, but he could inject his voice with a threat of violence that would make lesser men faint.

"Why were they not sent back to wherever they came from with an axe embedded in each of their skulls!" growled the Warchief. "What was Commander Larmash thinking?"

"Commander Larmash was killed in battle a few days ago, Warchief. A Goblin, Scottie Bigblast, took command after an Alliance raid wiped out a good portion of the command structure. He was preparing to request reinforcements when the humans arrived. He asked me to tell you that these humans have strange technologies that could be of great use to the Horde."

Garrosh nearly screamed. "Gallywix! I knew we couldn't trust him, or any of his conniving little lackeys. This Scottie must have heard 'new technology' and given in immediately. No matter. I will have reinforcements sent to Hellscream's Reach, and we will crush the Alliance and give these new humans a reply spelled in their own blood!"

Beside him, Thrall winced. He had to defuse Garrosh before the other Orc decided to lead another attack force himself.

"Look Garrosh, I'm sorry for inflicting Gallywix on you, but at least read the letter. We need allies, and a group of humans with new technologies would be a great help. Perhaps we could even do without the Forsaken if these new devices prove powerful enough."

That made Garrosh pause, but only briefly. He really did hate that bitch Sylvanas and her rotting monsters, but he would not betray even them for a bunch of humans. He said as much to Thrall, who shook his head and replied, "I'm not asking you to betray anyone. I'm merely asking you to use your head and avoid getting us into a war on another front. If these humans ally with the Alliance, we lose Tol Barad, and maybe more. Please Garrosh, just read the letter."

Garrosh was visibly conflicted, but in the end he snarled, snatched the letter from Thrall, and tore it open. As he read, Thrall could see him becoming more and more confused and agitated. When he finished, he wordlessly headed back towards Grommash Hold, motioning for Thrall to follow him. Along the way, he sent one of his guards to fetch Eitrigg, the only one of the advisors Thrall had left for him that would still speak to him freely. They arrived at the hold to find Eitrigg waiting for them. The old Orc did not like to walk very far if he did not have to, and so made his home close to the Hold. The three orcs sat down around a table. Thrall spoke first.

"Tell us Garrosh, what was in the letter that startled you so?"

"Am I so easy to read?" The other two nodded. "Bah, no matter. The letter is from a human claiming to be leader of a nation I have never heard of, a nation that is the most powerful in its world. He says he wants peace and trade, but the idea of a new nation, or even a new world entering the fray troubles me." Eitrigg smiled and spoke.

"So you've finally started using that rotten lump of meat you call a brain. Good for you boy. The humans beat us in the Second War because we were a bunch of crazed lunatics, high on demons blood, and they were organized and disciplined. The Alliance is pretty much the same. The help each other out, stick together. They have more people too. These new humans are less of a threat to them. Us?" He shrugged. "If we get attacked, the Tauren'll come help us and that's about it. The Undead will arrive just a little too late and decide, 'oh well, everyone's dead, might as well use our Light damned plague and reanimate everything'." The old orc spat. "Buncha rottin monsters."

"The undead have stood with us Eitrigg. They're the only reason the humans haven't sailed over and helped the night elves exterminate us." To the other's surprise, it was Garrosh that said this. "I may hate them, but they're useful, and they haven't betrayed us yet, so I'll return the favor. What do you think Thrall?"

"I agree. If they become the new Scourge, we can fight alongside the Alliance again if we must. Now let's have a look at that device they sent through." He took the device, examined the diagram that came with it, and determined that he needed to press a button on top of it. He did so, and all three were startled when an image appeared on the far wall. It showed a dark skinned human dressed in black, sitting at a desk. The human spoke in the human language, Common.

"I am President Barack Obama, of the United States of America. This is simply a demonstration of one of our many technologies. I hope that we can meet face to face, once the delegation has established peaceful relations. I advise against any attempts at coercion, however, as the guards you just saw are highly trained, and will take any threat to the diplomats very seriously."

The image disappeared. "What did the human say?" asked Garrosh, the only one of the three who didn't speak Common. Thrall translated for him, and Garrosh sat back, pondering the human's words.

It was Eitrigg who realized it first. "That was without magic! These light damned humans did that without magic."

"Hmm...The letter did say the didn't have access to magic. I just thought that meant they would be all the weaker," said Garrosh.

"Perhaps they developed their machines instead?" mused Thrall. "What is your decision, Warchief?"

"The Alliance has always had better machines. Their damned steamships run circles around our ships, that tram makes laying siege to their cities next to impossible. We will talk to these new humans, and even the odds." He sent for a guard. "Send word to the leaders of the Horde. Inform them of what has happened, and tell them to make for Dalaran. Ready the Kor'Kron. We go to wage a war of the words."

As the leaders of the Horde received the missives, they felt different emotions rise within their breasts. Trade Prince Gallywix, having already heard about new technologies and trade deals ripe for the taking, was practically jumping up and down with excitement. He didn't have time to, so he had a Excite-O-Tron 9001 built to jump up and down for him. Excite-O-Trons 1-9000 all exploded in various degrees of fiery goodness.

Lor'Themar Theron was excited as well, but for a different reason. He was merely a regent without a king to wait for. He needed something to cement his people's faith in his leadership, and trade, new mechanical marvels, and a new ally would be just the thing.

Baine Bloodhoof was wary. He missed his father dearly, and still did not trust Hellscream entirely. He knew Garrosh had nothing to do with the poison found on Gorehowl; that was entirely the fault of the shame of the Tauren people, Magatha Grimtotem. Nonetheless, the new Warchief was a hothead and a fool at times, and with humans already encroaching on Mulgore Baine didn't need a new group bolstering their ranks.

Vol'jin was also wary, for many of the same reasons. He had the added worry of Garrosh's hatred for him, a feeling he returned. Though the fool had calmed down a bit recently, Vol'jin could easily see him goading the humans into attacking. The one good bit of mojo was that Thrall was back to keep Garrosh under control.

The Banshee Queen smiled in her dark crypt. More humans meant more dead. More dead meant more of the Forsaken to bolster her ranks.

With excitement and trepidation in their hearts, the leaders of the Horde traveled to the wondrous magical city of Dalaran to meet the American delegation.


	13. Chapter 12

Rhonin Redhair was having a good day, except for one tiny detail. His wife and children were healthy and happy, his city was safe from the depredations of the blue dragonflight, and more recently Deathwing, and there hadn't been an explosion or magical accident in the underbelly in two whole days. The one tiny detail preventing him from being completely at ease came in the form of the leaders of every major peaceful faction in Azeroth screaming at each other in a meeting room in the Violet Citidel. The loudest, of course, were Garrosh Hellscream, Warchief of the Horde, and Varian Wrynn, King of Stormwind, who were only held back from trying to kill each other by two very large golems, specially designed for that purpose. Surrounding them were representatives from the major races that comprised the Horde and Alliance, along with delegations from the Cenarion Circle, Argent Crusade, Knights of the Ebon Blade, Earthen Ring, and many others. He even spied his old friend Krasus, representing the Dragonqueen, along with what he suspected were envoys from the other three dragonflights still loyal to the Wyrmrest Accord. Most of the envoys were lead by the leaders of each respective faction, which just made things worse, as that many forceful personalities were difficult to contain in one room without something snapping. At the moment, Rhonin felt like it was his brain that was about to snap.

He cursed Pogsson Frostflame. The insane little mage had brought back a marvelous new device and tales of a world without magic, and promised greater contact and trade with the strange humans who had made the device. All that was asked was for him to hold a simple conference to welcome a delegation from the Americans, as the new humans called themselves. Rhonin suspected that if they could see this room, they would turn tail and flee to their own world as quickly as they could. A rather large and smelly clump of leaves hit him in the head, likely from one of the dryads accompanying the Cenarion envoy. Why she had thrown it, he no longer cared. His infamously short temper ran out.

"THAT'S IT! THE NEXT BEING TO ANNOY ME GETS SET ON FIRE!" the mage snapped, conjuring up a ball of flame twice the size of his head. The gathered dignitaries all stopped and stared at him, even Varian and Garrosh.

"Thank you. Assembled lords and ladies, the delegation from the Americans will be here quite soon. I would rather they not see a bunch of squabbling children, or a bunch of charred corpses for that matter. Now take your Netherdamned seats or I will have you all dropped off the island. Those who can fly will be simply incinerated instead."

"I'd like to see you try, human," sneered Garrosh, finally working free of his restraining golem. "One of my shamans is worth ten pathetic human mages, and I fear not fire or height. You would be dead before you can start wiggling your fingers!" Behind him, Thrall and Eitrigg shared a knowing glance. They had known it wouldn't be long before Garrosh antagonized someone.

"Shamans? Pfah! Unscientific, unsubstantiated pseudobabble! A good mage or engineer is worth...approximately 42 of your charlatans." To the surprise of everyone assembled, it was high tinker Gelbin Mekkatorque who had spoken.

"Really? Come on then, little one, and see if your science can save you from Gorehowl!"

A horrible noise filled the air. It wasn't a cacophonous noise, but the sheer volume threatened to deafen everyone present. When the noise ended, all looked for its source, but the noise had seemed to come from everywhere. Rhonin knew better though. He nodded gratefully to Krasus and the other dragons. Four dragons roaring at once in a confined space wasn't pleasant, but it got people to shut the nether up for once. He cleared his throat.

"Now that we're all quiet, and will remain quiet unless anyone wants that to happen again, we can begin working out the seating arrangements." His declaration was met with grumbles from the dignitaries, and a roll of the eyes from Krasus. Rhonin was fortunate that the dragon did not mind a bit of stolen credit every now and then, otherwise he would never have become leader of the Kirin Tor. He sighed in annoyance that such a simple thing as where to sit had provoked such a storm. After a long and tedious half an hour, he managed to get everyone sitting so that none of the parties were completely satisfied, but also so that none of them were trying to kill one another. Now came the even more fun part.

"I am afraid that only the leaders of each delegation may come out to meet the Americans." He waited until the uproar had died down. "I apologize, but the Landing is simply not large enough for all of us. Now the Americans have indicated they will arrive shortly, so would the leaders please follow me." He got up and left the room, followed by the leaders of the Alliance and Horde, Malfurion Stormrage of the Cenarion Circle, Muln Earthfury of the Earthen Ring, Tirion Fordring of the Argent Crusade, and Darion Mograine of the Knights of the Ebon Blade. Also along were observers from the many less powerful factions, such as Baron Revilgaz representing the Steamwheedle Cartel, Prince Nadun representing the newly discovered Tol'Vir of Ramkahen, the various agents of the Dragon Aspects, Lokhtos Darkbargainer of the Thorium Brotherhood, Fahrad of the Ravenholdt Assassin's League, Gezhe of the Ethereal Consortium, and Professor Thaddeus Palleo of the Darkmoon Faire.

As the motley procession made their way through the streets of Dalaran towards Krasus' Landing, Rhonin took a few moments to admire the city. It was bustling with foot traffic, with mages going about their daily business, assistants running to and fro with looks of consternation on their faces, people going in and out of the various shops and the bank located to the right. To the north, he could hear the shouts and noises of the Commerce Exchange, and thought of all the gold it brought to his beloved city. He sighed contentedly as they walked past the fountain that had survived the destruction of the city, and was now dedicated to those who had died in her defense. They passed the Violet Hold, where Dalaran's criminals and failed experiments were held, before ascending the stairs leading to the main aerial entry into the city, Krasus' Landing. Rhonin remembered the look on his friend's face when he had been told the area would be named after him. The dragon mage preferred to work behind the scenes, relying on mortal champions and emissaries, such as Rhonin himself, to do his dirty work. The idea of having part of the city named after him seemed like too much exposure entirely. Finally, they walked out onto the wide platform that made up the landing, and began their wait. They did not have to wait long.

Above the usual winds common to the open platform, the dignitaries began to hear a strange noise, a loud whine combined with an odd, rapid whuffing sound, as if someone was slicing the air rapidly. The sound grew louder and louder, until finally they beheld its' source. A long black flying machine, resembling only in its' most basic form those used by the gnomes, rose into view. Unlike those made by the gnomes, it had no air of slap-dash, hasty construction about it. In fact, it appeared to have been made with almost mechanical precision; not a single part appeared out of place. It also had a very nasty looking gun coming out of the side. A voice, amplified by some unknown means, rang out from the flying machine.

"Please move back, and stay back until all the parts have stopped moving. We don't want any accidents."

The dignitaries complied, and the craft moved in to land on the platform, which fortunately was large enough to hold it. A door on the side of the craft began to slide open, and the assembled Azerothians held their breath. The ambassador of these new humans was about to be revealed, in all their glory. The door completed its ponderous motion, revealing a cabin filled with humans. Now which one was the ambassador, mused Rhonin silently. Whoever exited first, surely. Perhaps one of those strangely garbed soldiers? Out hopped...A petite woman with short blond hair. The soldiers immediately followed and surrounded her, forming a protective barrier between the woman and any who could do her harm. The humans, Americans, Rhonin corrected himself, walked forward, with the woman at the front of their group. He moved to the fore of the Azerothian dignitaries. As leader of Dalaran, it was his duty to welcome ambassadors to the city.

"Ambassador Clinton I presume," he said, bowing to the woman. "I am Archmage Rhonin Dragonheart, leader of the Kirin Tor. On behalf of all Azeroth, I welcome you to Dalaran."

The American ambassador spoke in a clear, strong voice with a strange accent. "On behalf of the American people, I thank you. I hope that we can foster solid relations between our countries now, and pave the way for trade and further diplomacy in the future."

"A fine idea. Would you like to return to the room we have set up, or perhaps take a tour of our marvelous city first?"

"I'd like to make my introductions first. The tour can wait. Please, lead the way."

With the American ambassador and her guard in tow, the procession of dignitaries retraced their steps, until they arrived at the room in the Violet Citadel that had been set aside for negotiations. As they entered, Rhonin noticed the Americans attempting to concealing their shock. He had picked this room, the room of Wulfrick the Scattered, for a very specific reason. Wulfrick had been a brilliant mage, but as his name suggested he could never focus on one project at a time, and was forever starting and abandoning new works, each of which showed promise, and each of which was cast aside. One of the few things Wulfrick had finished was the enchantment he had laid upon this room, which when activated would display a number of different scenes, from ancient battles to dances to a card game Wulfrick had once lost. The mage had been odd like that, apparently. The amazing thing was that the walls themselves displayed these images with startling clarity, making it seem as though one had been dropped into the War of the Ancients. Rhonin chuckled at that though; he had been dropped into the War of the Ancients, when the Lord of Time, the Bronze dragon Nozdormu had been nearly incapacitated by the Old Gods.

When all the dignitaries and ambassadors and the like had taken their seats, Rhonin cleared his throat for attention, amazed that it was still quiet enough for him to do so.

"Noble dignitaries, as I am sure you are all aware, the portal to America is located in Tol Barad, quite a ways from here, and Ambassador Clinton and her entourage are weary from their journey. As such, after the introductions are made, we will adjourn for the day, and reconvene tomorrow to begin serious negotiations. There will be a feast tonight in the main dining hall, for those who wish to partake. Ambassador, the floor is yours."

"Thank you," said Clinton, nodding to the Archmage. She addressed the room. "I come to you all as an emissary of peace. America does not wish to fight any more than it has to in order to defend our borders, which we will do if threatened. We would much rather trade than wage war, and I know that with your magic and our technology, such trade could make all of our nations rich. I understand that there are wars going on in Azeroth, and that there have been wars for many years now, but we believe that peace is far preferable to war. Peace lets farmers till the earth, let's family's grow without the specter of death hanging over them, lets merchants conduct their trade without fear. Earth has not had a major war for over fifty years, and we would like nothing more than to bring that kind of stability to Azeroth."

"Pfagh, big words from a small human," said Garrosh Hellscream, predictably. "Azeroth may have its wars, but we are stronger for it. The Horde would crush you without even straining our weakest peon. You can keep your peace, and grow fat and complacent, while we remain vigilant against those who would destroy us for nothing," he growled, glaring at Varian Wrynn.

"Monsters like you get what you deserve, filth. You killed my father, destroyed my home, and you claim the vengeance of the Alliance is undeserved? I should cut you down where you stand!" shouted the King, reaching for his sword. Garrosh did the same, only for both men to suddenly remember that Rhonin, quite smartly, had insisted that all dignitaries be unarmed.

"Gentlemen! I understand that you have your disagreements, but they will not derail this meeting. Now either act like you have some semblance of civilization or these negotiations will be over before they have even begun. " To everyone's surprise, it was the American ambassador who had snapped, not Rhonin, and even more shocking was the edge of pure steel in her voice. The two leaders were startled momentarily, long enough for Rhonin's restraining golems to grab them once again. Varian resigned himself to the golem's embrace, but Garrosh was not so sanguine.

"You would threaten me, little human? I don't need Gorehowl, I could crush your head with my bare hand! As could any Orc worth their honor."

"I'm sure you could Warchief. But attacking an ambassador on neutral ground doesn't set a very good precedent, now does it. Not to mention the fact that America will consider the Horde her enemy, and from what I can tell you are at a stalemate with the Alliance. Unless you can summon enough soldiers to match a million strong army with superior capabilities, which I kind of doubt, another enemy, especially one with our capabilities, would simply destroy you."

Garrosh growled, but that was it. He could see Thrall frantically gesturing for him to shut up, but he didn't need the other Orc's advice to know that. He may have been prone to rashness, but he was not stupid. He nodded, jaw clenched, to the human.

"Thank you. Now, my staff and I are tired from the flight up. Negotiations will commence tomorrow. I look forward to meeting you all at the feast tonight. Good day."

With that, Clinton left with her staff, guided by a servant to their quarters. Many of the assembled delegates grumbled, dismayed that they had not gotten to speak to the ambassador, and that the first meeting had been so very short. Still, it would appear Clinton wished to save the meeting and greeting for the feast, and so as the dignitaries filed out, all of them were planning, plotting, trying to determine how best to use this new nation, this new world, to their advantage. It would all begin at the feast.


	14. Chapter 13

Private Thomas Nahees was intensely uncomfortable in his dress uniform. At least with his regular uniform he could loosen it a bit, make it less constricting, but he had no such luck now. He supposed it was the price he paid for being part of Secretary Clinton's honor guard at the feast. And what a feast it was! Four long tables had been set up; one for the Horde, one for the Alliance, one for the neutral powers, and one for the American delegation. Nahees and his fellow marines, including his mates Lopez and Claypoole, had already eaten, and were on alert for anything suspicious. Nahees was somewhat disappointed at not being able to try the food, which magically appeared on the table when the previous dish had been finished, but his current mission was just as good, since it gave him a chance to look around at all the marvels surrounding him. To his left, he saw the Horde table. Orcs, big and green, sat side by side with thin, vicious looking trolls, diminutive goblins, exquisitely beautiful Blood Elves, massive bull-men, called Tauren, and undead. The undead made Nahees shiver a bit, remembering his first harrowing hour on Azeroth. The Tauren confused him somewhat. The translation spell, which had been cast in improved form on all of the members of the delegation, rendered the name of the bull-men's race as Tauren, which sounded suspiciously like the Greek word for cow or bull. That couldn't be coincidence. Nahees mentally filed it away to look into later. To his right were the Alliance. Humans, dwarves and gnomes sat with Night Elves, equally as beautiful as their Horde counterparts, if in a more ephemeral way, Gilnean survivors, identifiable by their different clothing or by the fact that they had fur and fangs, and the bizarre blue-skinned draenei. Past them were the neutral delegates. He saw the strangest things there, such as a Night Elf with antlers that appeared to be growing out of his forehead, A half man half cat, and what appeared to be a being made out of pure energy and wrapped in bandages. The last one reminded him somewhat of the old stories of the Invisible Man.

One by one, during the course of the feast, various delegations were supposed to come over to the American table and introducing themselves to Secretary Clinton. This, Nahees guessed, was what this feast was really all about. First impressions were important, and everyone would probably be in a more agreeable mood if they were full of good food and booze. Not too much booze, he hoped. The big brown Orc looked like a mean drunk, or a boisterous one, both of which would be problematic. At least he had a gun. Apparently Clinton had managed to convince whoever ran this place, the red haired guy, Rhonin if he recalled, to let the Marines carry weapons to make up for the American's lack of magic or claws or just great hulking muscles. So far, the High Tinker of the Gnomes, the High Priestess of the Night Elves, the ruling council of the Dwarves, the Queen of the Forsaken and the Chieftains of the Trolls and Tauren had presented themselves to Clinton. Currently, the Kings of Stormwind and Gilneas were before the ambassador, making grand speeches about friendship and honor. Nahees had been a bit surprised when Clinton had asked to see King Genn Greymane's worgen form, and had been quite surprised when the king complied. He had hunched over, as thick gray smoke erupted from his body, hiding him from view. His silhouette remained somewhat visible, and Nahees could see the king's form shifting, twisting, until finally the smoke faded and the king stood before them, hunched, furry, and feral looking. Nahees tensed a bit; those claws could do serious damage. He noticed his fellow marines were equally wary, but Secretary Clinton looked as if someone had just brought her coffee, not transformed into a werewolf in front of her. In fact, she hadn't looked perturbed the entire time, not since they had taken the Black Hawk up to a floating island holding a magical city, a phrase straight out of so many of Nahees' books and video games he couldn't count them all. It was all part of her job as diplomat, he supposed. He would have been running around the city in awe by now, had he not been part of the honor guard, but that was why she was the Secretary of State and he was a Marine PFC.

Former Senator, First Lady, and current Secretary of State Hillary Clinton was more than a little perturbed at the moment. She had just seen a man shift into a werewolf in front of her. While she had known that this could happen from the debriefings of the adventurers, it was another thing entirely to see it happen before her very eyes. In fact, this whole mission had been one shock after another. From the moment she stepped through the portal, one amazing occurrence after another had been piled on her, almost non-stop. Still, she dealt with kings, dictators, conniving politicians, and most of all, Bill, on a regular basis. Plus, she couldn't let her impassive mask slip, or one of these strange beings would find a way to take advantage of her somehow. That was one of the primary rules of diplomacy, and a skill she had learned long ago, facing the cameras during the dark days of the impeachment. She returned to the matter at hand.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I appreciate your taking the time to demonstrate. I must say it seems painful though."

The King barked a bitter laugh. "It eases with time. And nothing can compare to the pain of seeing my people, my home, my son, all torn from me."

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I didn't mean to reopen old wounds."

"No need to apologize. Everyday I am reminded of what I have lost; today you just happened to be what reminded me." King Varian Wrynn, of Stormwind, spoke up.

"Madam Ambassador, thank you for your time. We look forward to the resumption of negotiations tomorrow. Come on Genn, let's get some more food."

The two bowed and left. Clinton noted how the younger king treated his elder. Greymane needed Stormwind's help to get his kingdom back, and thus Wrynn was in a position of power, and knew it, hence his casual ordering of the older man. There was tension there; she filed the fact away for later use as the the Draenei leader, the Prophet Velen, approached, along with his bodyguard and the shaman who was responsible for the extraordinarily useful translation spell they were using. Of all the leaders, he impressed Clinton the most. Not only was he dressed in robes that managed to be simple, yet at the same time incredibly elegant, but he also radiated an aura of calm, serenity, wisdom, and most of all, _age_. Clinton felt like she was in the presence of everyone's favorite grandfather. He bowed, and spoke, his voice rich, deep, and musically accented.

"Blessings be upon you, Ambassador Clinton. I am the Velen, Prophet of the Draenei and servant of the Naaru and the Light. I wish for peace between our peoples, and all peoples." Clinton thought that would be it, but the ancient being continued.

"Sadly, as much as we may wish for peace, it does not come lightly, or freely. There are enemies of all that is good, all that is pure and holy. The Burning Legion may come for your world, Ambassador, as they have hounded my people across the stars. I hereby request on behalf of my people the assistance of the United States against the evil that stalks the stars."

Clinton pondered the implications of this request. She knew from the debriefings that Velen was respected, and she could see that even the leaders of the Horde weren't as hostile to him as they were to, say, Varian Wrynn. Besides, Dasmykon had some astounding pieces of jewelry, apparently made with Draenei technology, that scientists back on earth would be extremely keen to look at. On the other hand, such a potentially binding agreement was not something to rush in to.

"Thank you for your kind words, Your Holiness. I'm sure our peoples would benefit such an agreement, but we would like to save such discussions for later, so that we may all enjoy the feast."

"Please, I am merely Velen, or Prophet if you must. Your words ring true; merriment is something that should be enjoyed when one is able, and our meeting is a cause for great merriment." The ancient Draenei bowed. "I look forward to further meetings. Blessings upon your family." As the Prophet said this, Clinton felt a sense of peace wash over her. It was a wonderful sensation, but all the same she made a mental note to have her head checked, just in case. The sense of peace ended abruptly as the leader of the Horde aligned Goblin faction, Trade Prince Gallywix of the Bilgewater Cartel.

Gallywix was an obese little goblin, dressed in some of the gaudiest clothing Clinton had ever seen, complete with a ridiculous purple top hat covered in stars and jewels. He swaggered up to her with the aid of a cane, accompanied by a large retinue of goblins that reminded Clinton of nothing so much as a CEO's entourage of yes men. Given that the fat goblin was a Trade Prince, and that goblin culture was apparently highly mercantile, the comparison was likely apt. Upon reaching the American table, the fat goblin pressed a series of buttons on his belt, and a ludicrously complex device began whirring, clanging, unfolding into...a chair. Which Gallywix promptly sat in. This was going to be interesting.

"Ambassador. Here's the deal: we Goblins love two things: trade, and explosions. Trade for our buddies, explosions for our enemies. Since trade gives us new ways to make explosions, we like Trade a bit more. So how about this; you give us trade relations, and we'll make it worth yer while, hah? I saw that fancy schmancy flying machine youz came in. Something like that, gotta be produced by some kinda machine, since youz dont have magic. That means it's mass produced, means you guys need plenty of gas for it. We can give you that gas. Plus all sortsa resources. Ya know, iron, cobalt, gold, lumber; you name it, we can get our hands on it. So how bout it?"

Clinton was silent for some time before answering. This was a tricky one. If what Gallywix was saying was true, it could mean a major economic boom for the United States, especially if they could find new sources of oil. On the other hand, part of President Obama's agenda was green technologies, and new sources of oil would sabotage that. Neutrality seemed best for the moment.

"I appreciate the offer, Your Highness, but as I told His Holiness Prophet Velen, I would like to save all such negotiations until tomorrow so that we can all enjoy this feast."

"Hah, Yer Highness, that's a laugh." And laugh the Trade Prince did, in a snorting, piggish manner. "Hehehe, yer highness...ah, that's rich. Ah well, suit yerself. C'mon boys, lets see if we can put the Dalaran kitchen outta business."

As his ludicrously complex chair retracted and he walked away, Clinton suppressed a shudder. Something about Gallywix rubbed her the wrong way. He seemed to ooze sleaze, almost like Silvio Berlusconi, but without the Italian charm to compensate. All thoughts of slimy goblins were driven from her head as the most important delegation of the night approached. Warchief Garrosh Hellscream, massive and clad in his bone armor, thudded as he came up to the American table, followed by three other Orcs, all green in contrast to Garrosh's dusty brown. She recognized one of them from the briefings; it was the former Warchief, Thrall. He was supposedly calmer than Hellscream; hopefully that meant he would handle the negotiations.

The Orcish delegation stopped before Clinton, and as one thumped their chests with one hand and chanted a phrase which the translation spell rendered as Victory or Death. She understood that this was a greeting among Orcs. Garrosh began to speak.

"Ambassador Clinton, of the United States. I am Garrosh Hellscream, Warchief of the Horde! With me are Thrall of the Earthen Ring, High Overlord Saurfang, and Eitrigg of the Blackrock. We come before you to seek an honorable peace." Though something about his voice made Clinton tense, she was happy to hear that the Horde wouldn't be immediately hostile.

"Thank you, Warchief. Peace is also our number one goal. Our concepts of honor may be different, but peace is something we can all strive for." She decided to try and give the Warchief a chance to brag. "May I ask, how did you come by that armor?" She saw Thrall immediately sigh and slump. Maybe she had made a mistake?

"Haha! I'm glad you asked, human. Now hear the tale of true valor, as can only be displayed by an Orc!"

A good twenty minutes past, as Garrosh related in painstaking detail how his father had brought down the Pit Lord Mannoroth, whose tusks now adorned his armor, and how he himself had hunted and killed the yetis that provided the skulls. Clinton, well used to U.N. diplomatic functions, managed to look engaged the whole time. When he had finished, he laughed, moved to clasp Clinton on the shoulders, thought better of it when Thrall nudged him in the ribs, and finally retreated to his table to get drunk and eat all the food. Thrall stayed behind briefly to apologize and request patience with his successor, before following.

Private Nahees flopped down on his bed. It was huge and soft, and he nearly sank into it. He had always found formal events tiring, and this one had gone on for hours. After the Orcs had left, the neutral factions had started coming up. Some had been boring, like the old fellow who just pledged friendship in the name of the light or something before going to eat with one of the orcs, but others had been more...interesting, to say the least. Like the invisible man who spoke in a sibilant accent and moved like he was under a strobe light, and who had been keen to set up trade deals. Interesting as it had been, he was tired, and this bed was soft. Nahees smiled; he wondered what his old DI would think. The old bastard wouldn't even bother thinking, he would just have Nahees running laps until his legs were gone, before yelling at him to always be watching out for Secretary Clinton. He paused for a moment; what threats to the Secretary did he need to worry about before he went to bed? All the factions seemed friendly, although the brown Orc, Hellscream, was indeed a boisterous drunk, though thankfully restrained by his advisors. He supposed maybe one of the factions trying to destroy everything might attempt an assassination or something, but that was why he was there, and nothing was getting through the Marines. Content in this knowledge, and knowing that Lopez would wake him for his guard duty shift, he drifted off to sleep.


	15. Chapter 14

Secretary of State Hillary Clinton sighed and leaned back in her chair. The last of the Azerothian delegates were filing out of the meeting room, which was currently showing a scene from some comedic play featuring a group of blue haired sisters destroying things. The negotiations had gone on for three days, and, for the most part, been extraordinarily fruitful. She had managed to talk the Prophet Velen out of an outright alliance, and into a simple promise of political asylum to start with. She had secured preliminary trade agreements with the Ethereals and Goblins, although she had needed to have Gallywix's contract checked multiple times to make sure it wasn't signing America into indentured servitude. She had managed to secure neutrality in the war between the Horde and Alliance, which itself had taken an entire day. She glanced at the restraining golems, thankful for Archmage Rhonin's foresight; they had come in extremely handy several times during the negotiations. The only real rough spot had come when one of the Dwarven leaders, Moira Thaurissan of the Dark Iron Clan, had made a clumsy play to gain U.S. support for her being named sole ruler of Ironforge. Clinton hadn't quite been able to appease her, and she'd stormed off in a huff. All that was left now was to finish socializing and wrap things up before she could finally go home and not have to deal with magical floating cities or ancient demon armies, at least for a while. As if to punish her for daring to be hopeful, and loud fwump sounded in the chamber. Clinton had been to enough places to know that the sound was an explosion somewhere in the city. She needed to get back to the Osprey, but she was loath to abandon all the progress she had made should the city collapse. She had to ensure that the dignitaries were safe.

"Corporal Claymore, take your squad and ensure the safety of the dignitaries. If this is an accident, lead them to whatever evacuation point they have set up. If it's an attack, ensure the dignitaries are safe, then collaborate with the Kirin Tor forces to hunt down whoever's responsible." The marines in question saluted sharply and ran off to do their duty. Clinton hoped it wasn't an attack, and if it was that it wasn't by some rogue element of one of the factions represented at the conference. It would be rather messy if it was, she thought as she headed towards the Osprey.

Private Nahees, along with Lopez and Corporal Claypoole, ran down the halls of the Violet Citadel, which had taken on an ominous red glow, as opposed to their usual soft purple, presumably as a form of warning. Secretary Clinton had ordered them to find out what was going on, and for that they needed an Azerothian, preferably a mage, since Clinton had told them to liaise with the Kirin Tor. It was fortunate, then, that as they entered the large foyer of the Citadel Lopez tripped over Pogsson Frostflame. He was accompanied by his party, and as Lopez helped the Gnome up while apologizing, since he had an aversion to being set on fire, Claypoole saluted and asked what was going on.

"I got no idea lad," replied Pogsson Wildbeard. "Pogsson said he felt some kinda disturbance in the forces of magic around the island, then we heard that boom. Sounded like it came from the old prison. It's good ta see ye three again though."

"Likewise. Is this some sort of attack? We have orders to assist in evacuation and containment, and to help fight if there's an opfor," said Claypoole.

"Opfor, is that some kind of new element? What kind of properties does it have?" Everyone glared at Pogs. "Er, right. Of course it's an attack, the Geller field around the prison has been breached again. I swear, I told them a million times after we stopped the Blue infiltration to let me change the shield, but noooo. Too much risk of catastrophic explosion or sudden transmutation of the city into a kitten made of pudding, they said. Bah!"

"There was a very good reason for that, Magus Frostflame," said a smooth voice. Rhonin strode in, accompanied by a gorgeous blond woman who Nahees recognized as one of the Alliance dignitaries. Proudmoore, that was her name. "We like our city afloat, not made of grass and splattered on the ground. Gentlemen, I passed Ambassador Clinton just now. I understand you will be helping us?"

"Yes Sir!" the Marines snapped in unison, saluting.

"Very good. Since you know Magus Frostflame, you can work with his group under Lady Proudmoore. We expect this to be a Twilight's Hammer attack, so make sure you protect the casters. You'll need them to counter the foul cultist magic. Best of luck to you all." With that, he strode away, fading into invisibility as he did so.  
Proudmoore turned to address the marines and the adventurers. She carried herself with grace and pride, but still looked somewhat weary, as if she'd rather just be relaxing somewhere. Still, she asked questions and gave orders in a clear, strong voice.

"Magus Frostflame, I understand you are quite handy with fire magic."

"Yes, my lady."

"Good, you'll be our artillery. The opening shots are yours, and should they attempt to summon elemental swarms, feel free to burn them. Miss Lep, I want you on scouting duty. Do you have any way of communicating with the rest of us?"

"Actually Ma'am, we can help there," Claypoole spoke up. He took a spare radio headset out of his rucksack, and set it up so Lep could use it. "There, now she'll be able to communicate with the rest of us."

"Very good. I would like to study that later, mind you. It reminds me of something Brann Bronzebeard once showed me. Knights Plagas and Pogsson, you will be our front line, and Dasmykon, you'll be on healing duty. Which just leaves the question of how to use you three?"

"I don't believe we're cut out for frontline duty quite yet. We can supply precise ranged firepower where you need it," answered Claypoole once more.

"Hunters then. I'd like you and your squad to cover our flanks in case the Twilight try an ambush."

"Sounds good Ma'am. Let's move it out marines. Check your fire, we might have friendlies. Urban combat ROE is in effect until I say otherwise." He turned to Pogsson and Plagas. "Lead the way."

The group moved out of the Violet Citadel and towards the market district, which seemed to be clear of fighting. Proudmoore explained their goal as they moved.

"Magus Rhonin is leading a group to clear out the other side of the city. We need to keep up with him and meet at the entrance to the Violet Hold, where the breach is."

As they were passing what looked like a toy shop, Nahees heard a cry and raised his rifle towards the source, only to get his first glimpse of an Ogre. It was a massive brute, with a horned head and under slung jaw. It was dressed in robes of purple and wielding a large hammer. It roared again, as if challenging the group, spittle flying from its mouth as it pounded its chest and swung its hammer menacingly. . Nahees shot it with a three round burst. The ogre staggered, but did not fall. Instead, it ran around screaming, courtesy of the fact that Pogs had set it on fire. Nahees looked back to check on the rest of the group. The ogre's cry had attracted more Twilight agents, who were locked in battle with Plagas and Pogsson, while Lopez was trying to line up a shot. At the back, a rogue had apparently slipped past them to try and attack the mages. He'd landed a hit the Lady Proudmoore, but his dagger had been stopped by a swirling barrier of ice. The rogue tried to vanish back into the shadows, but Corporal Claypoole sprinted forward and grabbed him. The rogue tried to bring his blade around to strike, but the Marine locked his other wrist as well, before giving him a vicious push kick to the chest. The rogue stumbled back, and Claypoole took the opportunity to emulate Pogs by making cheese out of something; in this case, the rogue. The cultists at the front had been cleaned up, leaving Pogsson free to drop back and speak with him.

"Ask that daft girl Lep what she was doin would ye? She was supposed ta be our scout."

"I managed to take out an enemy caster before he could even chant." Nahees jumped and whirled, but Pogsson was apparently used to this, since he just turned to face the smiling Night Elf, who was still holding a piece of bloody garrote wire. "Good work, but at least tell us where ye are next time so we don't worry."

"Let's keep moving," called Jaina, and the group resumed their earlier positions and started marching again. They encountered sporadic resistance, most of which was dispatched in advance by a quick dagger thrust or two from Lep, until they reached the Horde quarter. The sounds of battle echoed from within, accompanied by a roar tinged with a ferocious undertone. "That must be Warchief Hellscream. We need to go help him and Thrall," she said, hurrying forward to do just that. The rest of the group hustled to keep up, not wanting to leave her unguarded. Upon reaching the Horde quarter, they found a battle straight out of Nahees' favorite fantasy books. Orcish guards in black plate armor formed a circle, cutting down any cultists foolish enough to get close. Still, there were lots of them, well armored, and their blades glowed with an unpleasant purple light. But then, given who they were up against, they might as well have been wearing t-shirt and wielding flashlights. Garrosh Hellscream cut them down like wheat, his axe carving a bloody swath through the cultists, even as his bodyguards tried to keep him away from them. Behind him, the shaman, Thrall, was sitting surprisingly still, his face calm and focused, as if he were concentrating on something.

"Thrall's trying to disrupt the Twilight casters. I need to help him; you all need to go aid the Warchief. I know he's your enemy Knight Pogsson," she said, interrupting the Dwarf before he could object, "but we must stand together against the Twilight."

"He's right man. The U.S. is neutral right now, and we want to stay that way. Let's just all come together and kill these cultists," pleaded Nahees.

"Fine, but I don't have ta like it."

"Super, now let's get to it. Nahees, go with Pogsson and link up with the Warchief, tell him we're his evac. Lopez and I will provide cover fire," interjected Claypoole.

Nahees saluted sharply, and together with Pogsson's group made a break for the Horde's position, as Claypoole and Lopez opened up with their M-16s, the three round bursts shredding a group of cultists.

As the Alliance adventurers approached the bodyguards, it appeared as if the Orcs would attack them as well, until a bellowed command from Thrall made them part. As Jaina split off to assist the Shaman, Nahees made a beeline for Hellscream.

"Warchief, we're here to evacuate you. The Twilight's Hammer are all over the place. The Kirin Tor are clearing the city, but until then we need to get you to safety."

"Bah!" spat the Orc. "I need no help from a bunch of puny humans and Alliance scum! Watch, boy, and see how a true warrior fights." With a roar, he charged into the fray, despite Nahees' frantic calls for him to stop. Behind him, Thrall suddenly grunted and rocked back.

"Ware, they're summoning elementals!" he shouted. "Jaina, I must disperse them, can you deal with the casters?"

"Of course."

Back on the front lines, Nahees had finally caught up with Hellscream, along with a number of bodyguards. The Warchief was surrounded though, and Thrall hadn't been able to disrupt all of the elementals. A massive conglomeration of rocks was headed their way, and Nahees didn't think his rifle would be much use. Steeling himself, he opened fire on the cultists accompanying the elemental. Suddenly, a cry rang out from their left, and a grenade smacked into the rock beast and detonated, sending it crumbling. Lopez and Claypoole, screaming like maniacs, were running towards them, firing as they ran. Cultists started dropping like flies, but a large group of them had managed to surround Nahees and Hellscream. Another grenade took out a chunk of their numbers, allowing the orc and the marines to break through and retreat to the line of bodyguards. But Lopez and Claypoole were still out there.

Nahees could only watch the events unfold, cut off as he was and out of ammo. Lopez and Claypoole became surrounded, just as he had, but without the fearsome reach of the Warchief's axe, or his bodyguards. Hellscream had realized the same thing, and was directing his soldiers to assist the Marines, but it was too late. As they struggled to get through, Nahees saw Claypoole shove Lopez back and shout at him while pointing towards the advancing bodyguards and taking out a couple of cultists in the way with precise shots. Just like in the Keep. Claypoole opened up with his M-16 on full auto, dropping one, two, five cultists. He hurled a frag grenade, but it wasn't enough. He ran out of ammo, and switched his grip on his gun. He began beating the cultists back, using it as a club, until it was knocked out of his hands. He drew his combat knife, bellowed a battle cry, and slashed at the oncoming cultists, his hands a whirl as he parried thrusts and returned the favor with deadly precision. They could get to him! Lopez was back and shooting cultists and the Corporal was only a few feet away. But his luck had run out. A knife came out of nowhere and found a weak point in Claypoole's Dragonskin Armor. He froze, reaching in vain for the knife in his back, before turning and gutting the rogue that had snuck up on him. The sight of their leader falling enraged the Marines, who emulated Claypoole by emptying their magazines, then drawing their knives and rushing forward, this time with the support of the Warchief of the Horde and his bodyguards. They crushed the remaining cultists in a tide of death, but Nahees and Claypoole had stopped when they reached Claypoole's body.

"C'mon boss, you can't die here. We're on a floating island, in a magic land, you gotta see this stuff. They've got really good healers here boss. Please, open your damn eyes!" pleaded Nahees.

Claypoole did. "I..told you…Private. It's Corporal…not…bos…"

The rest of the day was a blur to Nahees. He'd never had someone so close to him die. He knew the cultists had been sent packing, but almost everything else was a blur. The only thing he could vaguely remember was the Orc, Hellscream, thanking him, and saying something about bravery and honor and alliances. Nahees just saluted and walked away. This world had lost its magic for him.


	16. Side Story 1

_AN: I apologize for the lack of author feedback after I dumped the rest of the story a week or so ago. I've been busy, and will be busy for another few weeks until I get done with finals. After that, I should be able to end the story in a more satisfying fashion, as I had planned. Incidentally, for those of you who haven't checked out the spacebattles thread where this was originally posted, I'll repeat the announcement I made there. It has always been my intention to make this fic a shared, open project that anyone can contribute to, sort of like Eric Flint's 1632 series. The sheer magnitude of the meeting of Earth and Azeroth is such that one man can't capture it, which is why I would love for you guys to write stories in this world. Any story will do, but I'd really like ones dealing with the social, economic, political and cultural impact on both Earth and Azeroth. There are a few ground rules though. 1) No Porn. 2) I decide what to accept (although I doubt I'll reject any, this is just a precaution). 3) If you want your story posted as part of this fic, PM me and I'll put it up with all credit given, of course. 4) If you want to use my OCs, such as Pogsson and crew, feel free, but PM me the fic first. _

_Anyway, this was a couple of side stories I wrote to delve into the backgrounds of the adventurers. I only managed to get done with 2 before getting bored, and I'd like to finish the rest someday, but here's what I've got. _

_Oh, and go check out my TVTropes page. /Fanfic/ANewWorld Remember, more tropes means more incentive to write. :)  
_

"State your name please."

"Pogsson Wildbeard, of Clan Wildbeard."

"Is the clan a sort of extended family, or another type of heritage?"

"Little bit of both really. A clan is a line that goes back to a founder. The founder takes a wife and has children, those children have children, and they all keep the Wildbeard name somehow."

"I see. Can you tell me a little bit about your clan?"

"Oh sure. If there's one thing every dwarf loves besides drinking, it's braggin about their clan. My clan was founded by the great Droman Wildbeard, son of a Wildhammer mother and Bronzebeard father. He was a mountain king, famed for his ferocity in battle and his immense beard, which was as wild as he was. We've always been a small clan, but after the War of the Three Hammers, we became diplomats between the Bronzebeards and Wildhammers."

"Can you tell me about the War of the Three Hammers?"

"It all started when Emperor Modimus Anvilmar died without an heir. The three great clans, Bronzebeard, Wildhammer, and Darkiron, fought for control of Ironforge, our capital. The Bronzebeards won, and the other two departed; the Wildhammers went to Grim Batol in the north, and the Darkirons to the Redridge mountains to the south."

"A succession crisis then?"

"That wasn't all lad. See, the Wildhammers were mostly fine with leaving, they were hill dwarves more than anything anyway, but the Darkirons were furious. They thought they had been robbed, so they came back for another go. They attacked Ironforge and Grim Batol, and were driven off, although their queen cursed Grim Batol with her death. Thanks in part to my clan, the Wildhammers and Bronzebeards reconciled and marched together on the Darkirons."

"What happened?"

"They summoned an elemental lord. Blew up half the Redridge Mountains, turned em into volcanic badlands. The Firelord enslaved what was left of em."

"So the Bronzebeards still rule Ironforge?"

"Well...It's gotten a wee bit more complicated than that. See, King Magni performed some kinda ritual ta keep us safe from the Shattering. Only problem was, it turned him to stone. His daughter, Princess Moira, had been kidnapped by the Dark Irons and made to bear the child of their Emperor, Dagran Thaurissan. A dwarven war party, aided by adventurers like myself, stormed the depths of Blackrock mountain and rescued her, but by then she had apparently fallen for the bastard. So when her father turned to stone, she emerged from her grief and laid claim to the city as the king's heir. I wasn't there at the time, but I hear she ruled as a tyrant until a revolt nearly overthrew her. Luckily, the Prince of Stormwind, young Anduin Wrynn, was able ta broker a peace. So now Ironforge is ruled by the Council of the Three Hammers: Falstad of the Wildhammers, the king's brother Muradin of the Bronzebeards, and Moira herself representin the Dark Irons until her son comes of age."

"I see. And you owe allegiance to this council?"

"Aye. Clan Wildbeard has always been a part of the Kingdom of Ironforge, and since the council rules, I obey."

"All right. Tell us a bit about yourself."

"Hmmm, what should I say? I suppose I'll start from the beginning. I was born in Kharanos, the major town outside Ironforge, ta Milena and Willard Wildbeard. I studied engineering at the Royal Engineer's School in Ironforge, before training ta become a Paladin."

"What made you change occupations?"

"I never said I stopped being an engineer lad, and being a Paladin's more of a callin than an occupation. This may sound a tad silly, but I prayed to tha light one day to let me pass an exam. I got a perfect score, and after that I started goin ta chapel more, until one day I realized the good I could do following the Holy Light."

"Interesting. So you've been an adventurer for a while I take it? Please tell me about some of your campaigns."

"All right, but this might take a while. Lesse...I started out in Loch Modan, clearing out a Trogg infestation, then moved onto the human territory of Westfall to help with their bandit problem. From there I went south into Duskwood and Stranglethorn Vale, aiding the Night Watch of Darkshire and doing a spot of hunting with the famed Dwarven hunter Hemet Nesingwary. I hit Booty Bay, at the southern tip of Stranglethorn, and decided to catch a boat to Kalimdor, the western continent. I visited Theramore, the biggest Alliance settlement in Theramore, before headin to the deserts of Tanaris to help the Goblins of Gadgetzan with their sand troll problem. After that, I got a message about renewed Scourge activity in the Plaguelands, so I headed up to see what I could do. After that, I went back through Tanaris to the lost lands of the Un'Goro crater and then to Silithus, to help with the containment effort at the Scarab gate. I was just a support trooper mind you, an engineer and healer. After Silithus was cleared, I went back to Ironforge for some rest, which is when I met Pogsson Frostflame, the Gnome Mage. We hung out for a bit together before the call came out."

"The call for what?"

"The Outlands campaign. The Dark Portal had been reopened, and the Alliance and Horde wanted ta make sure there weren't any new threats comin through it. When I arrived in Outland, I found out that the Blood Elves had joined the Horde, stinkin traitors, but that was also where I met me first Draenei. Powerful followers of the Light, all of them, even the shamans."

"Is that when you met Dasmykon?"

"Nah, I met him a bit later. So, I came through the portal, linked up with the old Alliance expedition at Honor Hold, and helped the army clear out the fel orc stronghold of Hellfire Citadel. After that I trekked through the Zangarmarsh, stayed with the Cenarion expedition for a bit, before heading south to the old Draenei capital, Shattrath. That was where I met Dasmykon, and me first Naaru as well."

"Naaru?"

"A glowing being of the Light. His very voice was peace, his presence hope. 'Twas glorious. The Naaru were the ones who rescued the Draenei ya know, saved em from becomin twisted fiends like mosta their race."

"Could you tell me more about that?"

"Ask Dasmykon, isn't my story ta tell really."

"So how did you meet him?"

"We bumped into each other in the lower city. He was trying to sell some of those fancy jewels of his, and I was lookin fer some fancy jewels. We went drinkin and I convinced him to join me."

"Was Pogsson with you?"

"Nah, he had lagged behind a bit. I think he spent most of his time in Netherstorm doin research."

"Netherstorm?"

"I'll get ta that. So anyway, me and Dasmykon went through Terokkar, headed out ta the old Draenei burial site, Auchindon. Some Ethereals, energy beings who specialize as traders, had set up camp in one of the wings, and they were trying to get to some rivals. Problem was, the rivals had set up some manner of crazy anti Ethereal barrier, and so they wanted us to go in and take out their leader. We met up with some other adventurers and got the bastard. After that we headed over to Nagrand, did some more work for the ethereals and a settlement of broken, Draenei mutated by whatever fel energy the Orcs had brought with them during the war."

"Which war was this?"

"The war between the Orcs and Draenei. Ask Dasmykon about it. Anyway, after Nagrand we headed up through the Blades Edge Mountains. Incredible place that. Hundreds of great spires of stone, arcing through tha sky every which way. We stopped by a couple of Alliance settlements on the way through: a druid camp of mostly night elves, and a gnomish research outpost. We met back up with Pogsson there. Then we came ta Netherstorm. Apparently, it used ta be a great region of plains, until Draenor broke apart. Then, it became a series of floating islands, connected by a few bridges. We visited a Goblin research outpost, did a few odd jobs fer them, and headed out to join the war effort at Tempest Keep. Tha Keep was a Naaru vessel, tech that'd make any engineer worth his spanner drool. Problem was, the Blood Elves had taken it over."

"So this was a fight against the Horde?"

"Nah, see that's the strange thing. We actually worked alongside the Horde a bit there. Apparently their Prince, Kael'Thas Sunstrider, had taken ta consortin with demons and betrayed his people. The ones left on Azeroth didn't take to kindly ta this, so they renounced him and fought him. So we helped clear the three satellites of the Keep, tha Botanica, tha Mechanar, and tha Arcatraz, leaving tha way for tha main assault force. We were weary by then, so we headed back ta Shattrath fer some rest. While I was there I heard about the Shattari Skyguard. The Skyguard wanted help defending the city from the damned birdmen, the Arrakoa. Ta do that, they needed good flyers. Now I had a flying machine, but it wasn't exactly in fightin shape. So they gave me a nether ray ta try out."

"A nether ray?"

"Great large ray type beastie, floats off the ground usually, but the ones the skyguard had were specially bred fer flight. I never even looked at that old piece a junk again."

"You enjoyed flying?"

"Every minute of it. I guess it must be tha Wildhammer blood in me. I love Sharpfang like a brother, and he's been loyal through thick and thin. Saved me skin more than a few times. I do hope he's all right..."

"So what happened after that?"

"Oh, right. We'll I mainly spent my time with tha Skyguard, helped em clear out some demons in Blade's Edge too. Pogs studied, and Dasmykon spent time with his jewel business. It wasn't for a while, until after Illidan, the lord of Outland, had been taken care of that we went back ta Azeroth. See, turns out Tempest Keep was just a set back fer Kael'Thas, and he was tryin ta use the Blood Elves old fount of power, tha Sunwell, ta summon one of the lords of the Burning Legion, Kil'Jaeden. The Blood Elves needed help, so they opened up tha area around tha Sunwell ta adventurers from tha Alliance and tha Horde. I spent some time helping, mostly doin bombing runs, but eventually I got tired of fighting, and headed back to Ironforge with me pals. That was when the plague hit."

"Plague?"

"Tha new plague of undeath. Don't know why tha Lich King thought infected grain would work a second time, and it did, to an extent. But really, by tha time the Argent Dawn had found a cure, not many had taken ill even. Of course, tha Scourge followed up with attacks on Stormwind and Orgrimmar, but they got driven back too, and both the Alliance and Horde formed up fleets ta take out the Lich King."

"This was the start of the Northrend Campaign?"

"Aye. I took a ship from Stormwind ta the western end of the continent, place called tha Borean Tundra. Helped the Alliance fort fight off some attacks, helped secure an advance airstrip, and got ta meet the first Death Knight ta join the Alliance, Thassarian. Helped him rescue his sister from a bit of trouble too."

"Was this when you met Plaga?"

"Aye. When we got back ta the fort, there was this death knight who demanded ta speak with Thassarian. Said he wanted ta join him, be his disciple or somethin. Thassarian handed him off ta me, and he's been with me ever since."

"Has he ever forgiven you for that?"

"Oh I doubt he really cared in the first place. He just figured bein with Thassarian would let him kill more Scourge. The Knights of the Ebon Blade are all about vengeance against the Scourge, who took everything from em, including their free will for a time."

"How did they regain their free will?"

"Ask Plaga about it, he was there. So anyway, we moved onto tha Dragonblight, a great frozen plain at the heart of tha continent. We spent some time investigating Blue Dragonflight activity, before we moved on ta Wintergarde keep ta help em fight off tha Scourge."

"The Blue Dragonflight?"

"Pogs' story this time, far as I can tell this leader of the Blue dragons went nuts and tried ta destroy magic. Pogs knows more, since he split off here ta help tha Kirin Tor fight tha Blues. I'll get ta the Kirin Tor in a second, never fear. So after we took down the Lich commanding the Scourge at Wintergarde, me and Dasmykon headed off ta where the Alliance and Horde were engagin the Scourge directly, tryin ta get into Icecrown. The Wrathgate...We were pushin em back. Nothin they could send against us that would stop us. Even the Lich King himself decided ta come out, but...He killed the Horde commander, fellow by tha name of Saurfang the Younger, son of one of their great commanders. We had Highlord Bolvar Fordragon on our side though, a great Paladin. He..."

"Are you all right?"

"Sorry, always gets ta me. We were betrayed. The Forsaken, a rogue group of em, ambushed both armies with some new weapon. A terrible new plague, deadly to the living, but also ta those already dead. I managed ta get out, but the Highlord, and tha whole vanguard...All dead. The Red Dragonflight came ta our rescue, took out tha catapults and cleansed the area, saved more lives than I can count. They found his shield afterward, took it back ta Stormwind. I was part of the honor guard ya know. Great honor, that. An honor none of us wanted to need to have. The king was furious, blamed the Horde fer all of it. He put together a strike force ta take back the ruins of the capital city of Lordaeron. The Forsaken had taken it after the Third War, but the faction of rebels responsible fer the massacre had seized it in a coup. We fought through tha city, killed the monster responsible fer creatin that plague, and found the Horde doin tha same ta Sylvanas' former lieutenant, tha dreadlord Varimathras. The King tried ta attack the Horde Warchief, Thrall, but Proudmoore intervened. She thought peace was still possible. Noble, but foolish. After that whole mess was over, I headed up ta Dalaran ta find some more work. Dalaran used ta be a human kingdom, ruled by mages, but it was destroyed in tha Third War. When the Blue Dragonflight turned hostile, they teleported it ta Northrend, had it float above tha Crystalsong Forest. Wonderful city, ye should visit it. Anyway, I found out that another great Titan complex had been unearthed in the mountains northeast of Dalaran, so I joined the expedition ta clear them."

"Who were the Titans?"

"The ones who created Azeroth, and we dwarves as well."

"So they are religious figures?"

"Oh sure, some worship em, but make no mistake lad, we know they made us. We dwarves used ta be creatures of stone, called Earthen, but something made us turn inta flesh. I actually followed a dig team through the vault where the dwarves first awoke, Uldaman. Helped em fight off some dark irons and troggs too. They found records confirming fer certain that the Titans were real, and that they made our ancestors ta help them shape the deep places of tha world, and populate it too."

"I...see. Er, please continue."

"Ok. So Ulduar was occupied by nasty, hostile Iron Dwarves, a whole army of em in fact. I helped with the siege, piloted one of tha engines that broke their first row of defenses. Even helped kill an insane construct blocking tha way further in. I was injured and had ta return ta Dalaran, but I hear those who went deeper found things with no place on this world. Er, rather, no place on Azeroth. An ancient beast had broken its chains, but the ones who went in managed ta bring the various keepers of Ulduar ta their senses, and they rechained the foul thing. I spent a while in Dalaran recuperatin, until I heard tha call of tha Crusade. The Argent Crusade, formed from the old order of Paladin, the Knights of the Silver Hand, and the best Scourge fighters out there, the Argent Dawn, they were puttin together a tournament ta find great champions ta challenge tha Lich King. I entered, and did well enough ta be awarded tha title of Crusader, a title I wear proudly ta this day."

"Then came the assault on the Lich King?"

"Yep. The Crusade fought ta the front of Icecrown and battered down it's doors, with tha champions recruited at tha tournament right there at tha front. They sent me on a side mission though. I fought through the Saronite mines and inta the Lich Kings private chamber, along with Ms. Proudmoore. We were tryin ta destroy Frostmourne, tha Lich King's sword and keeper of all the souls he had claimed, but we ended up havin ta be rescued by tha Skybreaker, our gunship."

"A gunship?"

"Oh yeah, real piece of work that. They took a ships hull and added propellers to it, so it could fly. Great engineering, I wish I coulda worked on it."

"Interesting."

"Aye. So anyway, I rejoined the assault, and we fought through the guards of Icecrown, until we reached a point where the Skybreaker had ta carry us up the Spire. Those damn Horde dogs had their own gunship, and attacked us! We drove em off though, good dwarven work'll beat a shoddy piece of Goblin junk any day. We found the entrance ta the spire, but it was guarded by Saurfang. Even though we beat him, it was hard ta watch when Saurfang the Elder came ta pick up the body of his only son. We fought on ta the plague labs, and somethin in there got ta me, so I had ta go back ta Dalaran again. Highlord Tirion Fordring, the leader of tha Argent Crusade, led his champions and struck down the Lich King! I only wish I coulda seen the bastard fall."

"What did you do afterwards?"

"I went back ta Ironforge of course. We all did, cept fer tha settlers. Everyone thought we'd have some peace, but then that damn dragon popped up."

"Was Farson Hold your next job?"

"Nah, I spent a bit of time exploring the world, seeing what tha Shattering had changed. Helped the Earthen in Deepholm, the elemental plane of Earth. There are still some Earthen around by the way. I also fulfilled my family's duty by convincin the Wildhammers ta fully rejoin the Alliance. Then it was Farson, and now here I sit."

"All right. I think we're done for now, thank you Mr. Wildbeard. You've certainly given us plenty to think about."

"Don't mention it lad, though I'd be grateful if I could send a message back through ta make sure Sharpfang's all right.


	17. Side Story 2

"State your name please."

"Pogssons Frostflame, the Great!"

"Is that an assumed title, or a granted title?"

"Hey! How dare you not acknowledge how great I am!"

"Assumed then. What about your name? Is that a clan name of some sort, or simply a family name?"

"Gnomes take on new names based on their achievements. I studied frost magic and fire magic and made a number of advances in combining them for new ways to kill things. Say, how do these scrying crystals you're using work? I don't sense any mana source, but there's a strange flow of a mana type I've never seen before."

"That's classified information. Now, you have the same first name as Pogsson Wildbeard, the paladin. Why?"

"My parents. When Gnomeregan fell they went a little nuts. Tried to fit in with the Dwarves too much. Gave me a dwarven name."

"Gnomeregan?"

"The Gnomish capital in Dun Morogh. During the Third War we unearthed these degenerate beasts known as troggs. We tried driving them out, but there were too many. So we tried to irradiate them. It worked too well. We irradiated the city, made it uninhabitable. We tried to take it back, but that's still going on. We're close, but many of the refugees are still scarred."

"I see. That must have been difficult. Whose idea was it to irradiate the city?"

"Mekgineer Sikko Thermaplugg, advisor to High Tinker Mekkatorque. Once the rest of the Gnomes had fled, he went nuts and claimed the city as his own. He's still in there."

"I can see this is a painful subject."

"Ya think! I was little when it happened, but it still sucked!"

"I'm sorry. Let's move on. This High Tinker is your ruler I assume. How is the position granted?"

"Oh, no, the High Tinker is elevated from among the College of Masters, the greatest engineers and craftsmen in Gnomish society, by a vote. Each high Tinker serves for life, unless it is determined that he or she is a detriment to Gnomish society, in which case the College votes them out. I hear you guys have something like that. How do you select candidates? How long are the terms?"

"That's classified. Now, can you tell me how.."

"Classified my grandma's explosion, you just don't wanna tell me do ya!"

"Please calm down Mr. Frostflame. You're right, we are withholding information, but only to ensure that this debriefing continues swiftly and efficiently. You will be free to ask questions once we're done."

"Swift and efficient, how Gnomish. All right, what are we waiting for?"

"Ahem. Pogsson Wildbeard has already told us you two met in Ironforge before the Outland campaign started. Is there anything you'd like to add to that story?"

"Oh Outland, that was fun. Netherstorm especially, mana deposits everywhere. Not to mention the Ethereal technology; they've got stuff that beats the pants off of the finest Gnomish engineering. Didn't make their robes any less flammable though. So I stayed in Netherstorm while Pogsson and Dasmykon ran around Outland like I had set them on fire, which only happened a few times, and before we knew it we were off to Northrend."

"Pogsson mentioned that we should ask you about the Blue Dragonflight. He also mentioned a Red Dragonflight. Could you give us a little background on Dragons, and those two flights in particular?"

"So the Dragons were empowered by the Titans, you know, big creator dudes, during the ordering of Azeroth, to watch over the world. Five flights, with the leader of each flight empowered by a different member of the Titan ruling council, the Pantheon. Red was life, blue magic, bronze time, green the wilds, and black earth. Problem was, the Black Aspect, Neltharion, went bonkers a while back, started calling himself Deathwing. He's the one who caused the Shattering you know. Anyway, more recently the Blue Aspect, Malygos, recovered from being nuts after Deathwing nearly wiped out his flight. Malygos thought magic was being overused, so he tried to dig up all the leylines on Azeroth and shoot them into the nether. The Reds, led by the Dragonqueen Alexstraza, tried to stop him. This whole thing was the Nexus war, which I took part in on the side of the Reds and the Kirin Tor. So after that we puttered around Northrend for a bit more, cleaned the Lich King's clock, and went home. Then Deathwing came out, we went to Farson, and here we are. Say, can you tell me why the mana feels thin in this world. Even with my amazing intellect it's hard to cast spells."


End file.
